


Of Gods and Swords

by sinner316



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: 700 AD, Anglo-Saxon, F/M, Falling In Love, M/M, Old Norse, Unrequited Lust, Vikings, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-08 06:58:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 60,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13452900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinner316/pseuds/sinner316
Summary: An epic tale of love and war set in the times of the fearlessly, brutal Vikings. Clary is a daughter of a king and she is to marry an eligible bachelor to solidify the alliances between countries as they embark on the journey to protect their way of life from the invading men of the north. However, when Clary is kidnapped by a fierce and stunningly beautiful Viking prince, known as Jace Heorndale, life as Clary knows it will cease to exist. This is my first crack at a TMI full story and not just a one-shot, so be gentle. All reviews, praises or constructive criticism, are welcome. None of these characters belong to me *cries uncontrollably.* I hope you guys enjoy! As always, happy reading!





	1. Prologue

_Kingdom of Northumbria (present day, August 15, 793 A.D._

The king sat at his study, busily scratching away at the parchment before him, ignoring the cramping of his writing hand as he pleaded with the neighboring kingdoms to join with him against their common enemy- _the Vikings._

_To the Kings of Mercia, East Anglia, Bernicia and Deira; I write to you as a fellow Christian king, asking that our differences may be cast away so that we may take up arms against the Devil, for he has made his face known to me and my people. I fear that I am just the first stop on his quest for world destruction and implore you all to hear my plea._

_The Devil came by three ships upon my northeast shore, carrying with him his demonic heathen followers- brutal, pagan men. Their souls were as black as the night, their eyes as hollow as their hearts. The pagans marched on Lindisfarne, our most holy monastery, defiling our holy church with their acts of violence, slaughtering men of God and blasphemously removing our most sacred relics from His holy ground._

_My Lords, I beseech thee, as men of God, ourselves, is it not our duty to stand for the Word of God and His people? Should we not take up arms against the Devil and do God’s work, casting this wickedness from our shores? The Devil comes swiftly upon the waters and I fear we have not seen the last of the Northmen. Join me, my fellow brothers of Christ, for it is in Christ Jesus that we take up our arms against these sinners. For it is written: If God be with us, who could surely stand against us?_

_Come to my table and drink from my cup so that we may work together to rid our lands from these devils. Bring your wives and your children so that we may all present a united front as God-fearing men. We will feast and drink for what lies ahead is surely our the Day of Judgment._

_May the Lord bless and keep you,_

_King Lucian Garroway of Northumbria_

Lucian, intimately known as Luke by his most intimate relationships, leaned back in his hard, wooden chair. He pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers of his left hand while the right hand laid his quill down gently, the weight of his fevered writing heavy on his shoulders. If the kings of the neighboring countries did not join arms with him against the pagans, all would be lost. Now more than ever, the shaky alliances of the four main kingdoms needed to join together in complete solidarity against these foreign invaders or their way of life would be pillaged and plundered just as Lindisfarne had.

“Alaric,” Luke called, waiting for his second-in-command and best friend to come through the doors of his study. He knew that Alaric had been standing guard outside his door, a silent sentinel, protecting his King from any threat, foreign or domestic.

When Alaric quietly opened the door and walked into the study, Luke gave his friend a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Alaric, you are my most trusted and loyal servant,” he began and at the slight bow of Alaric’s head in thanks, Luke continued, “We have fought and bled for each other on the field of battle. You are like a brother to me.” He put a strong hand on Alaric’s shoulder, gazing at him fiercely in the eyes, “You are the only one who I trust enough to carry out this God given mission has placed on my heart.”

“If it is my King asking, I will obey as it is my duty,” Alaric said, his deep voice genuine and steady, “However, if it’s my friend asking, I will gladly lay down my life in his service.” He removed his sword from its sheath and held it out to his king, “As God as my witness, this sword is your’s Lucian Garroway, King of Northumbria.” He laid down one knee and bowed his head in respect for his majesty.

Never one to show his emotions easily, Luke chuckled, rolling his eyes at his friend’s overly zealous form of loyalty. “Get up, my friend,” he said heaving the bulky male off the floor. “For Heaven’s sake Alaric, age hasn’t done you any favors lately has it,” he breathed, almost breaking a sweat under the weight of his best friend laden down with his cast iron armor.

Alaric gave a good laugh, “Alas it has not; I was praying you would help a friend upon his feet, I’m afraid my legs are not as young and athletic as they once were.” He cleared his throat after a genuine smile was shared between the two tired, old men, “Now, what is it that I can do for my king?”

Rolling his eyes once more, Luke walked around his desk and pushed the parchment he had been writing on towards Alaric to read. He watched as the smile on Alaric’s face turned from unburdened happiness to one of solemn silence, a frown burrowing into his forehead. When he looked up from the parchment, Luke held his breath waiting for Alaric’s thoughts on his willingness to ask for aid of the other Kings.

“Are you sure we can rely on our neighbors to help us against the Vikings, Luke,” he asked, again skimming the letter in his hand. He looked back up at his king and sighed seeing his own worry looking back at him. “Alright, I will leave at first light and ride to the other kingdoms in your name, for it is my sworn duty as your second in command. But as your friend, I caution you to be weary of these men, my Lord, for we know the limits of a man’s loyalty and his quickness to place his own gains above the lives of others.”

Luke thought about this and nodded his head in agreement, “You are certainly right about that, Alaric, however, we have no other choice. The Devil is here now and if we expect to survive his army of darkness, then we must put our faith in the Lord and take up our sword with our Christian brethren.”

Alaric bowed his head and swiveled on his heal, eager to plan his departure for the morning and to be on his way in haste as time was not on their side. As he opened the door, he stopped in his tracks as a woman on the other side was raising her hand to knock on the wood- Queen Jocelyn.

She had stunningly, soft, fiery red hair, a nod to her Irish decent and piercing green eyes that no man could resist falling for. She was a remarkably strong woman and was a highly respected and beloved Queen by all accounts.

“Your Grace,” Alaric said bowing his head before he swiftly walked around her figure and down the hall.

She watched his retreating figure down the hall, a nervousness creeping into her bones as she turned to her husband’s own worried face. The weight of the crown was slumping his shoulder and making the dark shadows under his eyes stand starkly against the whiteness of his skin.

“Luke?” she inquired softly, coming quietly into the room, closing the door off to listening ears. It was only in her presence, that his posture became fully relaxed, the years of youth that being king had taken away, would once more return to him as she circled him in her strong, yet feminine arms.

“What is it, my love?” she asked, rubbing her hands soothingly up and down his powerful biceps. He placed his hands on her hips and drug her to him, placing a soft kiss on her head as he held her in his arms.

“Our judgment is here, Joss,” he said her shortened name with a mix of sadness and love, “And it is my duty as the King to protect my people, to protect our daughter from these vile men who walk our shores.”

Jocelyn lifted her eyes to her husband and placed her hands on his neck, cupping his head in a lover’s embrace, “Through divine providence, God chose you, Lucian Garroway, to lead His people and now, it seems, He has chosen you to lead His army against His enemy. Will you deny Your Lord his commandment?”

“Never,” Luke whispered, looking down into her loving eyes. He brought his lips down lightly onto her’s, savoring the sweet perfume that adorned her lips. “How did I get so lucky to have such a woman in my life?”

Jocelyn smiled warmly up into her husband’s face, “Ever since I was a little girl, I prayed to God that I would one day find a man who loved me as an equal and when our paths crossed, I knew my prayers had been answered.”

They shared a smile with one another as only lover’s could and just let the presence of each other’s company soothe them. It was Luke who first broke the tender moment with his tempered volume.

“Where is Clarissa?” he asked, a light in his deep brown eyes always catching when he spoke of his daughter.

The Queen laughed, “You know our daughter, Luke, she can never sit still long enough to finish her studies. I heard your sister, Amatis, yelling her name, threatening to lock her in her room forever if she didn’t return to her lessons.”

Luke chuckled, his sister had a hand full with his free spirited daughter who often reminded him of his own youthful days, never wanting to waste a beautiful day cooped up in the castle listening to old drones speaking of the days past, hoping he would get some sort of lesson out of their boring stories. He supposed Clarissa was a lot like him in the fact that they were souls of action. But he feared for his daughter, for society was not ready for such a bold and care free woman. Women were to be seen and not heard from unless spoken to by another man, but Clarissa was anything but calm and submissive.

“I hope she is allowed to remain a child for as long as possible, Joss,” he said, staring into nothingness over the top of his wife’s head, “For in our world, we are cruelly ripped from our childhood fantasies and thrown into the world of chaos and hurt. I wish to be able to protect her from it always, but alas, one day she will be forced to grow up and I am powerless to stop it.”

Jocelyn nodded her head in saddened agreement and laid her head on her husband’s chest. They both stood there, arms linked around each other, soaking in this brief moment of togetherness as they knew that in the days to come, no such moments could be spared. Their world, their way of life was being threatened and it would take all their time and effort to keep the piece among the kingdoms as they waged a war against the Vikings.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

_A week later in the Kingdom of Mercia_

King Valentine Morgenstern of Mercia sat with the hand written letter from King Garroway in his clutches. He silently read the letter as the knight, formerly known as “Alaric,” second-in-command for the King of Northumbria, waited for his decision regarding the message of the letter.

Valentine could feel the tension in the room and had to chuckle inwardly. He knew that Alaric did not trust him and the feeling was mutual, both men knew what the other way capable of, still, Valentine recognized the threat of the pagan worshippers and took King Garroway’s pleas for aid seriously.

Valentine looked over the parchment in his hand and looked to the heavily muscled man in front of him, his long, gray hair showing his age and yet an air of wisdom that so few could pull off. He regarded him with some thought before he straightened himself up in his chair and directed his next words to the knight.

“I will acknowledge King Garroway’s plead for a mutual laying down of arms with each other as it is my duty to protect good Christian men and women, here or anywhere.” He stood up, handing the parchment back to Alaric as he continued, “My son, Sebastian, and I will accompany you back to your home where I may speak personally with King Garroway. We will feast and talk of the battle plans to destroy the heathens that threaten those that dare to stand against us.”

Satisfied with his decision, Valentine began ordering his servants around, commanding that the best food and drink to be packed for their journey the Northumbria.

“And fetch my son,” he called out to the last of the servants scurrying out of the thrown room after the final of his commands were shouted. He turned once more to Alaric and looked at him with a smirk on his face, “I am assuming that Jocelyn will also be in attendance to welcome me and my son into her home?”

Alaric schooled his features to betray neither his anger at this foreign king for showing such disrespect for his Queen nor the disgust he felt when he saw the openly lustful gaze in his eyes when King Morgenstern said her name, as if they were intimate with each other in a past life.

“Yes, my Lord,” he uttered between clenched teeth, “Both the King and the Queen will welcome you into _their_ home as their _guest,”_ he emphasized the key words, hoping that his meaning was clear to the foreign king not to cause any unwanted trouble.

“She could have been mine, you know,” Valentine muttered, his eyes fixed on days past, “I would have given her anything she ever wanted; our children would have been beautiful.”

At Alaric’s clearing of his throat, he was thrown from his reminiscing and focused on the present, “Alas, we better get going. I am eager to see how Northumbrians welcome their guests!”

Alaric followed the king out of the lobby, his jaw tight with fury and his stomach a little nauseous in being in the company of such a man. King Morgenstern was known for his fanaticism when it came to ruling his people and dealing with his enemies. Often ruling with a cruel hand and a harsh heart, he found it easier to rule as a feared monarch more than one that was loved.

It was said that his only son was an exact image of his father, growing up without a mother’s unique love, as she had died in childbirth. Sebastian, Prince of Mercia, was following in his father’s footsteps and even developing his own unique way of ruling. He used the emotions of men and women to gain what he wanted, knowing that no one would cross the son of a king, and he reveled in the power.

Alaric kept quiet as he watched the servants of the house bustle with movement, silently praying that the war would come to an end swiftly in their favor so that King Valentine’s support would no longer be needed and that he and his son would return to their dark corner of the world and not bother them again.

After a week’s worth of planning, Alaric, Valentine and his son, Sebastian, mounted their horses, ready to start on their journey to see the King of Northumbria.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The King and Queen of Northumbria stood up as the doors to their throne room opened. The priests and council in the room parted, allowing the guests, led by Alaric, to pass them through the middle of the room, ending just in front of the dais.

“Your Majesty and your Grace,” Alaric spoke, his voice firm and steady, “I present to you, King Morgenstern and Prince Sebastian of Mercia.” He bowed his head and moved to the side of the dias, to the Luke’s right hand side. The two Kings studied each other for a moment, each calculating the trust they could afford where the other was concerned.

Putting aside his prejudice, King Garroway proceeded to step down from the dais and greet King Morgenstern, his wife following him a couple of steps behind, as it was expected of her.

“King Morgenstern, Prince Sebastian, welcome to Northumbria, I trust your travels were without troubles?” He stuck out his hand in a welcoming gesture and shook King Morgenstern’s hand as he too let out his hand.

“Please, Lucian, call me Valentine, after all, are we not equals?” he said, grinning. When Lucian nodded in agreement, he continued, “Rest assured, your Majesty, Alaric was an excellent guide. Never was their a doubt in my mind about my and my son’s safety while in his care; I am jealous of the fierce loyalty he has for you,” he smirked looking at the knight.

“Yes, he is a true friend of the crown,” replied Luke, he motioned towards his wife, “You remember, my wife, Queen Jocelyn.” He watched as Valentine’s eyes slid from his best friend to his wife, not at all unaware of the sultry look in his eye as he gazed over her finger.

“How could I forget such a beautiful woman?” he said, his eyes never leaving her’s. He took her had in his and kissed it tenderly. He felt the Queen stiffen under his touch and he laughed to himself.

“My husband and I wish to welcome you into our home,” Queen Jocelyn said, her tone not betraying the disgust she felt towards this man, nor the shiver running up and down her spin at his touch. “I hope that you found your accommodations pleasing?” She would not allow this scoundrel of a man to ruin her good naturedness, especially not in font of her subjects who looked to their Queen for poise and gentleness.

“Yes, my lady,” Valentine said, bowing his head in thankfulness, “I am sure my son and I will be quite comfortable here.” He let his eyes rake her form in front of him once more before he turned to Luke once more.

“Where is your daughter, Lucian? I’ve heard many tales of her beauty,” he grinned, “Something she must have gotten from her mother, eh?” he said jokingly.

Luke just grunted, “She’s out in the courtyard with her childhood friend, Simon. She doesn’t much care for all this pomp and circumstance. I’m sure she’ll be around for supper.”

“Beautiful and willful, a dangerous mix, Lucian,” he said, letting his eyes swerve over to the Queen’s, whose green eyes held a fiery inferno, but her lips remained sealed.

Valentine turned to his son, Sebastian who had remained quiet this whole time, surveying the exchange between the two kings and making notes to himself for future reference.

“Son, why don’t you introduce yourself to the princess, while the grownups talk business,” he laid a hand on his son’s shoulders and gave it a squeeze for him to not disobey him. Sebastian nodded in acceptance of the command and bowed his head to the foreign King and Queen. He turned on his heel and left the room, eager to find this princess whose beauty was foretold as beyond anyone’s imaginings.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Clary wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, the sun beating down on her bathing her in sheen of sweat, but she loved it. She took a step forward and thrusted her wooden sword out, connecting with her foe as the wooden planks clashed against each other.

“You’re getting tired, Simon,” she teased, unyielding from her offensive attack. She made him recede a couple of step before he paried and had her on the defensive once more.”

“Never!” he shouted, delighting in his brief victory over his red headed, best friend. He heard her giggle and it stopped his heart, momentarily taking him off guard. This allowed her to get the best of him as she maneuvered her sword against his hand, knocking his weapon to the ground.

“Kneel,” Clary commanded, pointing the tip of the wooden sword, playfully, at the center of his neck. Simon bowed his head in defeat, sinking to the ground on his knees. Clary giggled again, but quickly cleared her throat and turned her grin into a frown.

“You know what I want to here, Simon,” she said in a low voice, sending playful shivers up and down Simon’s spine. He took in a shaky breath and said the only words to guarantee his survival.

“I, Simon Lewis of Northumbria, do hereby surrender my life to Princess Clarissa Garroway of Northumbria, for she is both beautiful and the victor here today,” he smiled up at her and watched as her lips turned up at the sides.

Clary finally let the laughter bubbling in her chest out and fell to the ground in a fit of laughter. Simon rolled his eyes when her laughter didn’t stop after a while, but couldn’t help his own chuckles escaping him as he watched her in her fit of happiness.

“Simon Lewis,” she said, shakily around the laughter still threatening to overwhelm her, “I hereby pardon you of your crimes and order you to a lifetime of servitude.” She placed her small wrists on his hips and turned her nose up towards the sky. Simon just groaned and fell back against the earth with his back against the ground.

“A fate worse than death, the horror,” he moaned earning another giggle from the redhead.

A slow clapping from a short distance sounded and both of their heads swiveled in the direction of the on comer. Quickly they both rose to their feet, Clary had to straighten her dress as it was hanging off of her unceremoniously from her rough activity just now.

The newcomer let his eyes rake her figure appreciately and grinned down at her when he stood just feet from her.

“You must be Princess Clarissa,” he said, his voice low and sultry. He took her hand in hind and placed a chaste kiss on top of it, “I am Prince Sebastian of Mercia, a guest of you mother and father’s.”

The boy was beautiful, Clary’s mind wondered, he stood probably a good foot above her head and had a slim, yet powerful frame about him. He had hair a light as a dove’s feather, but his deep black eyes made him look dangerous and unpredictable. Clary swallowed seeing that his eyes were only focused on her.

Clary tugged her hand out of his grasp, discreetly wiping his smear of saliva on the side of her dress. This wasn’t unnoticed by Sebastian and he couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly.

“I’m Simon,” the other boy said, outstretching his hand to greet the older boy. He looked to be about fifteen, where Clary and him were only thirteen years old. Simon coward behind Clary as Sebastian’s onyx eyes turned upon his.

“Run along, _Simon_ ,” he said, spitting out his name, “I came to speak with Clarissa.” Before Clary could argue, he held up his hand, silencing her in astonishment at his brash movement, and added, “Alone.”

Simon looked helplessly towards Clary and seeing her nod in acceptance, he scurried away towards the castle. He could tell that the newcomer was bad news and went in search of his adopted mother, Amatis, to rescue his best friend from this Sebastian character.

Clary watched with saddened eyes as her friend disappeared into the castle and instantly grew pissed at someone, _a guest no doubt_ , treating her friend with such disrespect. When she had turned her attention back to Sebastian she was caught off guard as he handed her the wooden sword that once had been in Simon’s hand.

“Let’s see how you fight a real man, Princess,” he said coyly a step back, preparing himself to spar with her. The anger still bubbling in her chest and exhilarated at the chance to knock the smirk of this boy’s face at the forefront of her mind, Clary let herself smile and took her stance.

“I’m not going to be a lady about it,” she quipped.

“I wouldn’t think so,” he said before he made the first move. He had her immediately on the defensive, his advanced techniques forcing her to concede her ground to him. It took all her concentration to match his blows and her arms were getting weak from the force of his strikes, but she used the angry fire within her to keep up against his attacks.

Sebastian was impressed as the fiery, red head matched each one of his strokes, but he already grew tired of this game. He switched his footing suddenly and had her backed up against a large tree trunk, effectively trapped between it and his sword across her throat.

Clary gasped as the wood leaned against her windpipe, her eyes growing large with a tint of worry.

Sebastian allowed himself so close to her that their bodies were firmly pressed against each others and her almost moaned against her petite breasts moving up and down his chest as he gasped for air.

He slowly removed the sword from her throat, but did not remove his body from her’s. She was still trapped beneath him.

“Get off of me,” Clary seethed.

Sebastian chuckled, his free hand slithering up her waist to cup a cotton covered breast in his hand. Clary gasped against his aggression and went to scream, but Sebastian’s free hand cupped her mouth, silencing her against him. She wiggled against him, but he just laughed at her futile efforts.

“Fire, I like it in my women,” he laughed and watched as she stilled her movements against him. Her eyes turned a frosty, green, not unlike the look her mother had given her father earlier in the throne room. _I guess apples don’t fall far from the tree,_ he mused.

“I’ve decided that I’m going to have you as my wife, Princess,” he said massaging her breast in his hand. Clary’s virgin body began trembling against his form, her legs suddenly feeling like jelly as a foreign sensation crept along her spine.

“Never,” she muttered, willing herself not to show the fear that was forming in her stomach. She needed to get away from him and his eyes that were eating her alive. She moved with lightening speed and brought her knee into his groin, forcing the boy to momentarily let go of her form as he bent down to one knew, howling against the pain.

Clary ran for the door leading into the safety of the castle and came skidding to a stop when she almost bumped into the familiar figure of her Aunt Amatis, sister to the King, and her nanny. Simon peaked around the tall woman’s slender figure, a questioning in his eyes. Clary just gave him a reassuring nod and then looked up to Amatis.

Amatis, however, was not looking down at Clarissa. Instead, she was watching the blonde haired boy in the yard, stalking in the opposite direction with a scowl on his face. When he was finally out of site, she let her features rest as she turned her eyes upon the young girl she had come to love as a daughter.

“Be weary of that one, young Clarissa,” she said as she gave one last fleeting look toward the direction Sebastian had took before she lead the teenagers into the castle, “It’s always the good looking ones that are the most trouble.”

Clary shivered and nodded her understanding. She felt her skin crawling around her and couldn’t wait to scrub herself head to foot, not leaving any trace of Sebastian’s unsubstantiated claim over her body. Clary made a promise to herself right then. She would _never_ marry that monster in this life or any other.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support! There are so many ideas running through my head that my fingers can't seem to keep up. However, I wanted to post this chapter for you guys. I know how waiting for uploads can drive one crazy. It may not be the best chapter I've ever written, but I just had to post it and just leave it be. I'm kind of anal about my writing, lol. I have no beta, so all mistakes are mine. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. Please review and give me your opinions and suggestions! As always, happy reading!

_Three years later…_

 

Jace Herondale, prince of the Vikings, stood at the front of his vessel, nothing but the sound of oars splashing against the water’s surface, propelling them closer to home. He leaned his hip against the cool surface of the boats wood and closed his eyes as the wind brushed softly through his hair. The air smelled of home against his sense of smell, tugging at his heart as he yearned to see the familiar shore of his home through the water’s mist.

“Land!” a Viking warrior shouted before the ship erupted in applause as battle worn eyes feasted on the land that was their home. Jace opened his eyes and smiled, sure enough, as the mist parted, a large port opened up into view, a scattering of people, fisherman and the like going about their day not noticing the vessel approaching their shores.

A horn sounded behind Jace, signaling the boat’s approach to the dock and Jace could hear the cheering along the shore, as the workers laid down their instruments and gathered along the waterfront to welcome the warriors home. His heart seized with the love he felt for his kin, never knowing another settlement to have such loyalty for each other.

Caught up in the emotion, Jace turned to his comrades, male and female alike, and gestured towards the approaching land, “Sons and daughters of Odin, feast your eyes upon your home! Celebrate our victory over the Saxons for you have earned it.” His voice grew solemn for a moment, “Mourn those lost in battle,” and then his voice picked up, “But not for too long, for they dine in Valhalla!”

A great cheer erupted from the boat and warrior cries carried them through the harbor. Jace smiled and turned to once again face the land he would die for. He wanted to memorize every wooden plank, every stonewall, every blade of grass…

Jace felt a hand rest on his shoulder and did not have to turn around to know to whom it belonged to. This hand was slender, but held great strength in each finger, courtesy of the great skill it carried with a bow and arrow.

Jace turned his head to look at the boy now standing behind him, his hand still resting on his shoulder. Alec Lightwood, childhood best friend, and his best archer in the great Viking army.

As there was only a year separating them at birth, Alec and Jace had immediately bonded as brothers, seeing as that Jace was an only child and the only heir to his father’s throne. Alec was like the older brother he never knew he needed. He was always there to pull Jace out of any trouble of his own doing and there for a good sounding board when Jace’s infamous temper made an appearance.

Jace looked into blue eyes and smiled, “We are home, brother.”

A man of few words, Alec nodded in agreement and squeezed his shoulder in solidarity before it was ripped away by a flurry of dark, raven hair.

Jace was startled out of his thoughts when the young girl hurtled between him and Alec, lifting herself onto the boats edge, hanging off the side to her brother’s chagrin.

Jace watched amusingly as Isabelle “Izzy” Lightwood, sister of Alec Lightwood, called out to the gathering audience on the shore waiting for their return. He grinned at the fearless shield maiden, her beautiful, raven hair rippling against the wind. He guessed that she filled that little sister void in his heart and always made it his life’s mission to protect her against unwanted, and sometimes wanted, advances.

Alec only muttered, covering the distances between himself and his sister in quick easy strides and begged her to get down before “Loki, god of mischief, made her his next joke and sent her overboard.”

When Izzy finally allowed her brother to manhandle her back into the boat, and not a second before, she danced over to Jace’s chuckling figure staring at her humorously and smiled widely up at him.

“Isn’t it wonderful, Jace?” she breathed, “We’re finally home!” She twirled around delightedly gaining the attention of their comrades, their yells and shouts of encouragement only aiding in the girl’s excitement.

“Yes, wonderful,” Jace whispered in reply, taking his eyes off the young girl in front of him. He looked again at his home, Hedeby, the center of trade for both the north and south trading routes, making it the most profitable city in all of Scandinavia.

Already, a mass of people congregated along the pier, eager for the return of their warriors once again to their shores. They yearned for the tales of the victory over the Saxons, awaited to see what plunders they brought back with them, and wished to celebrate and thank the gods for another successful raiding party.

Jace swallowed, involuntarily, as he was reminded of what laid waiting for him on the other side of that port- his mother and father. This whole raiding party had been a test of Jace’s skills as a leader and soon-to-be king. His father wanted to see if he could handle the responsibility. Jace was known to shirk his responsibilities on the occasion that the pleasures of the flesh seemed more suitable to his needs at the time, so his father had banished him to the sea and to only return when he had successfully raided a Saxon town.

His father, now blinded by old age and the use of his legs all but gone, was unable to join them in their raiding party and so it had been completely at the mercy of Jace’s decision making and that had made him grow up.

_Well, only a little_ , he mused.

He still enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh, a lot of Saxon women had been at his mercy, but now he had a new understanding of what it meant to lead his men and his shield maidens into battle.

Wanting to prove to his father that he had what it took to lead their people, Jace had been merciless in his dealings with the Saxons. He ordered that all were to be slaughtered save a few to tell the story of the mad, Viking prince, to stir fear into the hearts of the other monasteries and cities that were his next targets.

He sacrificed many Saxon men and women to the gods, thanking them for their victory over the Christians. He allowed the raping of men and women in their own homes, taking their religious relics and burning them down into piles of ash in front of them, laughing as they wept in the face of their fate.

Jace couldn’t help the air that stuck in his throat, all of a sudden, he wasn’t sure if he had been hard enough of the Saxons, brought enough spoils of his raiding back home with him, or killed enough Christians to satisfy his father. He didn’t know now if he was ready to face him, not knowing if he would accept or revoke the gifts he was bringing him.

When the boat finally docked, Jace was the first to step foot onto the sturdy, wooden planks and onto the pier. The villagers, their voices rising higher in volume as they tried to talk over one another, congratulating him on a successful raid, instantly greeted him. He mostly nodded his thanks and reminded them that it was the gods that led them to victory over the Saxons.

The crowd cheered, praising Odin, the All-father, for safely returning their men back to their homes safely. And now, it was a time of celebrating and feasting. Jace lost count of the number of pints of ale that were thrown his way and he chugged every one, the buzzing in his head, drowning out his worries from earlier.

To his surprise, two women wrapped their thin arms around his larger ones and steered him away from the crowd. Jace, a little high from the emotions of the day and slightly drunk from all the ale, allowed them to take him far away, never wanting to disappoint a beautiful woman, let alone two.

Alec watched, eyes narrowing as he saw Jace’s retreating back going into the shadows with a whore on each arm. He made a move to go after him, but he felt a small, yet strong hand on his forearm, stopping him from advancing.

“Let him go, Alec,” Izzy whispered looking in the same direction as Jace had just disappeared into. “He will see the King and Queen when he is ready.”

Alec nodded his head in agreement and turned towards the sounds of shouting and chaos as their victory was celebrated in the streets. Izzy took her brother’s hand and led him deeper into the streets, certain that after a few pints of ale, her brother would be uncharacteristically singing a warrior’s tune with the rest of them.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*

 

Clary rode threw the castle gates, into the open air, clicking her heels against the sides of the powerful beast beneath her. The horse picked up his speed as they sailed over the stone bridge leading to the open forest.

Clary held onto the reigns in tight fists and bent her small frame over the horse, allowing the wind to whip through her hair, a trail of fire behind her, the horse as black as charcoal galloping beneath her.

When they finally past through the trees, Clary carefully relinquished the reigns and carefully retrieved a bow from her back. Steadying herself atop the moving horse with her petite, yet strong legs, she aimed a perfectly narrow arrow at her first target. She inhaled deeply and let the arrow fly on her exhale, sinking the wooden stick deep within the tree a couple of yards away from her.

She smiled as she retrieved another arrow from her back and steadied herself once more on the still galloping steed. She let this arrow fly a greater distance, but the result was just the same- sinking deep within the wood of her target.

Once she had used up all her arrows, she led her horse to a small river to drink. She allowed herself to take in the calm surroundings of the forest. This is where she did her best thinking and could be herself. There were no royal expectations to uphold here; it was just a girl and her horse.

She stroked her horse, named Shadow, along his silky, black main. She admired his strong, yet delicate beauty. She rubbed his face with her hand and smiled. Besides Simon, Shadow was her only friend.

“We’re going to be free of all this one day, Shadow,” she said, peering into the wilderness, only guessing what lied outside. “I have to know that there’s more out there besides rules and expectations.”

She felt a heaviness on her shoulder as Shadow laid his massive head on her shoulder, instantly warming her heart. She turned and wrapped her arms around his thick neck. She stayed there for a moment before deciding it was best to head back towards the castle; if she stayed out any longer, her father would surely send out a search party.

Hoisting herself into the bridle, Clary clicked her heels against either side of Shadows frame and once again she felt the familiar breeze wash against her face as they hurtled towards the gates of the castle. She let her eyes clothes as she let her senses stretch out, hoping that this brief relief would suffice until the next time she could escape her rigorous princess training and come out here.

When the guards recognized the horse and the woman’s fiery, red hair, they immediately opened the gate for the princess. However, Clary made her horse come to a complete stop on what lay on the other side of the gate- her mother.

Clary gulped, knowing that she would get an earful from the Queen about how a princess never runs off on a whim or that a princess never goes anywhere alone blah blah blah. She looked again at her mother’s stern face and straightened her posture atop her horse.

“Good morning, mother,” she said cheerfully, hoping that her good mood would soften her mother’s features. Her smile faded from her lips when her mother remained silent and just looked at her with identical green eyes.

Jocelyn had to school her features. As a mother, she wanted to berate her young daughter for being so careless with her own safety, but as a Queen she had to remain calm and poised at all times. She closed her eyes as she inhaled a breath of air and opened her eyes on her exhale.

“Walk with me, Clarissa,” she said and turned on her heel, not waiting to see if Clary followed, she knew she would.

Clary pursed her lips and slid from the horse, handing the reigns to a guard and silently thanked him for returning him to his stable. She quickly closed the gap between herself and her mother in a few quick strides and waited for her mother to speak.

“Clary,” her mother began, making Clary’s stomach tighten with anticipation, “You know how I feel about you going off on your own.”

Clary blew a strand of hair out of her face, “Mom, I had to get away! Amatis was going to make me take dancing lessons with Simon! He has two left feet!”

Clary could have sworn she saw a small smile creep across her mother’s face, but the Queen cleared her throat and continued.

“Clary, you are the heir to the thrown and as such, you have responsibilities,” she gazed at her daughter perhaps for the first time that morning without a scowl on her face. “We are charged with the sacred duty of leading our people, Clary, and we must take every opportunity to better their lives. They look to us for guidance and we must not fail them.”

“What if I don’t want to be Queen?” Clary barely whispered, but Jocelyn still heard the barely audible question. She let her shoulders fall, her daughter’s words ringing unbearably close to memories past.

When they were safe inside the castle, Jocelyn turned towards her daughter, “We are whom God made us to be, Clarissa. God has given you a caring heart and a strong will. Use those gifts to help those around you; help your people.”

“I don’t know how to help them,” Clary said as she turned away from her mother, her brows creasing into a frown.

Jocelyn placed her hands and her daughter’s shoulders and took a breath, “As a woman there is little we can do on our own, Clarissa. This world is not ready for women like us to step out of the shadows. However, if we align ourselves with powerful men, there are endless opportunities to help those we are charged with.”

Clary spun on her heel to face her mother, “You want me to get married?” Her heart was pounding into her throat, her hands shaking with anxiety and a tinge of anger, “I won’t do it mother.”

“Clarissa,” Jocelyn spoke through gritted teeth, “You have no choice. It is your duty as a Queen to find a husband and produce an heir.” Jocelyn knew the words she was saying would crush her daughter’s spirit, but it was the way of the world. She knew that better than any one. She had been lucky. Her arranged marriage with Luke had turned out like a fairy tale. She knew that a lot of women in her role were not as lucky. She prayed to God every night that her daughter was able to find a man that was as kind and loving as she had found in Luke.

“Gah!” Clary shouted, “Doesn’t anyone care what I think? What about father?” she pleaded, her eyes filling up with angry tears. Her mother just bowed her head.

“He has sent word to the surrounding kingdoms asking that all the available suitors come here to champion for your hand.

“Champion?” Clary choked, “For my…” she just stared at her mother and then swiveled on her heel. When her mother shouted her name behind her, she picked up her pace and ran through the corridors in search of her father, praying that all this was some sort of mistake.

 

~*~*~*~*~*

 

Alec walked along the rows of Viking huts, searching for his best friend and pain in the ass. He knew Jace had been led in this direction by the two whores and so he knew he couldn’t be far.

It was the fifth hut that he had let himself into where he found a sleeping, and all naked, Jace, the two women curled up in his arms. They stuck heavily of ale and sweat and Alec had to stifle a gag. Clearing his head, and sense of smell, he rolled his eyes and went in search of a bucket and water.

When he returned to doused Jace’s naked torso with the cold water sending him spluttering awake and the two girls screaming in shock. Alec threw the bucket to the side and pulled the curtains open, letting the natural sunlight stream in through the room.

“Are you alive?” Alec asked, gruffly earning himself a glare from his prince.

“I’m delicate, Alec,” he said, smirking as he laid back against the animal skin bedding. He threw an arm over his eyes to block out the light and smiled, “Have you come to join us, brother?”

Alec ignored Jace, paying the girls for their services and told them to get out of there. Alec stood at Jace’s feet, not letting his tempting eyes to focus anywhere else but his best friends face.

Jace felt Alec’s eyes on him and took his arm from his face, smiling up at his brother, “What is it that you want, Alec?”

“Clean up and go see the King and Queen. They are anxious to hear about your victory over the Saxons,” he replied, throwing Jace’s clothes and weapons at him.

Jace let out a huge breath, “Fine, I’ll go. But,” he said, holding up his hand, “I’ll be drinking a few pints of ale first, I want to be ready for anything.”

“Of course,” Alec muttered under his breath. He excused himself from the hut, knowing that Jace would soon follow in his wake.

 

 

A few hours later, Jace was stumbling into the Great Hall, living quarters of the King and Queen and the feasting hall of the town. He was immediately greeted with shouts of praise and strong hands slapping his back in congratulations.

“Skol!” men shouted, raising their pints of ale, toasting Jace’s victory against the Christians. Jace took the pint of ale thrusted into his hands and drank it down fast. He through down the cup in celebration, smashing it into pieces, earning more shouts from the men and women around him. He smiled at the people around him, feeling the presence of the gods surrounding them, here in the place. He knew that Odin was here somewhere drinking with them, reveling in their victory in his name.

“My son,” a deep, male voice penetrated the shouting and all became still and quiet. Each member of the party stood at attention as their King made his way across the hell. Parting to the sides, to let their blind King through, all eyes trained on father and son as they met in the middle.

“Father,” Jace said, reaching out to grab onto his father’s strong upper arms. He squeezed his hands and let his eyes slide over to the Queen, Celine, his mother. “Mother, you look beautiful as always,” he said, smiling down at her. She nodded towards her son and then placed her hand on her husband’s shoulder.

“My son, “ his father, King Stephen Herondale, began, “Why have you waited so long to make your presence known to your mother and father? Were you not eager to see us and tell us of your triumph against the Saxons?” He unseeing eyes gazed into Jace’s orbits, knowing full well that his father saw enough without the actual seeing part.

“Of course not father,” Jace smiled, hoping to hide his true feelings of doubt behind his words, “I just got caught up in the celebration and had too much ale. If Alec had not woken me, I would still be underneath not one, but two beautifully naked women.” When he heard the whistles and jeers from the audience he continued, “However, the gods were with us in our raiding of the Christian villages, helping us to find immense treasure and wealth, father. I was hoping to find you pleased with the bounty.”

King Herondale gazed a little past his son’s shoulder, taking in what he had to say. True, he was proud of his son’s raiding party, showing leadership and his affinity to lead his people safely back home, but there was something else he wanted his son to learn and that was for him to find out.

“It is true, I am proud of you, my boy,” King Herondale began, “Odin came to me in a dream last night. He spoke to me and told me to send my fighters once again to the land of the Saxon’s. He said that what my son may find there may be the greatest treasure of them all.”

Jace was speechless, not only was his father praising him, but Odin, the All-father, wanted _him_ , to invade the Christian town once more in his name. He heard the cheering and the shouting as if from a distance, a smile slowly forming on his lips.

“Then we shall go in two weeks time,” Jace said turning towards his comrades. “Eat, drink, and fuck, my friends, for by the new moon, we sail towards Northumbria!” There was a collectible gasp from the crowd. They had never ventured that far into land before. The men looked around and at precisely at the same time, the yelling and the shouting for raiding began all over again, echoing off the walls.

Jace cheered and yelled with the rest, until he felt the smooth, delicate hand of his mother on his forearm. He allowed her to lead him to a quieter corner away from the loud warriors drinking and toasting Odin.

Queen Celine brought her hands to her sons face, cupping his head in between her hands, “Odin has chosen you, my son.” She peered into his eyes and smiled, “Your father and I are so proud of you.”

Jace brought his hands to his mother’s and laid them on top of her’s, “Why do I feel like there is a long winded discussion coming?” He smiled down at his mother, prepared for any words of wisdom.

“You should take a wife.”

Except those words.

“Mother,” Jace warned, “We’ve been over this before. Women,” he saw his mother’s eyebrow raise telling him to be careful with his next words, he cleared his throat, “Women complicate things.”

“ _You_ complicate things, my son,” Queen Celine said, eyeing her son, “It is your duty as the future king to take a wife and produce heirs. There must be a clear line of succession for our kingdom to prosper.”

“You are the only woman I need in my life, mother,” he said, his tongue firmly in his cheek as his mother struck his upper arm.

“I just want you to know that there is more to life than battle, Jace,” she said placing her hand on his cheek. “You have such a caring heart. You should show it more often.”

Jace grunted before he placed a kiss upon his mother’s forehead. He turned towards the crowd and quickly joined in the celebration and the feasting.

Queen Celine watched her son as he shouted to the gods, ale in his hand, and a smile on his face. She felt a strong hand clasp her shoulder and looked behind her to her husband, the king.

“I worry about him, Stephen,” she said, watching her boy become drunken with booze and women.

“Odin has showed me his path, Celine,” Stephen breathed into her ear, “It will be a test for him. A forging of sorts- from a boy to a man.”

Celine looked at her husband and then turned worried eyes to her only son, “I certainly hope you’re right.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sincerely, from the bottom of my overwhelmed heart, thank you to all my readers and especially to those who reviewed the last two chapters. I am very new to writing, let alone, taking the very vulnerable step in sharing my writing. There is nothing as frightening as opening yourself up to strangers and their opinions. But with life, you must be able to take the good, the bad, and the ugly. But you all have really been a light these past couple of days. I really enjoy bringing you new content whenever possible. I work long twelve-hour shift (nursing hours rock…not), so content may be shared in random intervals, but know that when I do have free time, I am working tirelessly to bring you with me through this grand adventure together. I hope you stick with me through this and keep encouraging me to finish this project, I would hate for the fire to burn out on me! I need your help to stay on track! Your words of encouragement, drops of suggestions and even constructive criticism are welcome, even needed for this author. I admit, that I crave affirmation of a job well done. Don’t we all once in a while. Again, I want to thank each and every one of you lovely people. Keep reading. Keep reviewing. And keep being awesome.  
> As always, happy reading.

_Five days before champion is crowned…_

Clary stared into the crowd gathering in the throne room, her stomach tightening with anxiety. They were all here to compete with each other for her hand in marriage, like she was some fair game to be won.

Clary felt a familiar hand on the middle of her back and turned towards the young man standing beside her, Simon. He was her best friend and new her so well. He gave her a sympathetic smile and turned his eyes to the main floor of the room.

“There’s an awful lot of them down there,” he muttered taking in each of the princes lined up to seek his best friend’s hand in marriage. If he was completely honest with himself, he was a little jealous. Sure, he wasn’t a warrior, but he loved Clary, always had. Alas, his station did not afford him the dowry big enough for a princess of Northumbria. So, he remained her best friend, her confidant, and often, her morale compass when that fiery personality decided to peak through.

“I will not be someone’s prize,” Clary muttered between her teeth, her back stiffening against his hand. Simon sighed, knowing the situation was helpless. He brought his friend into his embrace.

Clary let herself sink into Simon’s thin frame. Why couldn’t she take him as a husband. Sure, she didn’t love him, not in that way, but she knew she would be at least a little happy with him and she knew that he would treat her well. She looked down once more into the room below and the overwhelming feeling of helplessness was brought up within her once more.

She turned on her heel, wanting to hide away in the depths of the castle, praying that her father wouldn’t make her stand in front of these men.

When she turned a thin, yet strong chest in front of her abruptly stopped her. Clary looked up and saw the loving eyes of her father- King Lucian.

Luke bowed his head silently to Simon and nodded his head, asking Simon to quietly leave as he wanted to speak with his daughter. When Simon was out of ear shot, he glanced at his daughter, her eyes cast to the floor.

“Nervous are we?” Luke said, laying an understanding hand on his daughter’s shoulders.

“I don’t want to go down there, father,” Clary said, looking into his eyes and pleading with him to call this whole, barbaric thing off.

Luke sighed, he was just as nervous as his daughter was and truth be told, he hated himself for turning her into some sort of prize for the men to fight over. He did not want that for her, but it was the only way.

 “Clary,” he cupped her cheek with his strong hand, “The time of the next Viking invasion is upon us; I have to know that who ever you are married to will protect you. I will not always be here to do so myself.” He let his eyes fall from her’s and swallowed the lump in his throat.

Clary brought her hand to his, “I can take care of myself, my king. I don’t need a man to defend my honor as I pick up my skirts and run. I want to be in the fight.”

Luke chuckled to himself. He wrapped his daughter in a hug, “And that is what I’m most afraid of, Clary. You have such a daring heart and I’m afraid its going to land you in dangerous waters.” He placed a kiss on her forehead.

Luke led a reluctant Clary down the steps and onto the dias where her mother was already waiting for them. Her mother gave her a small smile and Clary returned it with a smile of her own that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You look beautiful, Clarissa,” her mother said softly enough so only she could hear, “The color really brings out your hair.

Clary looked down at herself. Her dress was made of a dark green fabric, tightly hugging her curves to show her delicate frame and that of a woman capable of bearing children. Clary thought it was too tight. She had trouble breathing and she felt stiff as a board whenever she moved this way or that way.

“Thank you, mother,” Clary whispered back afraid that if she said anymore that she would regret it. She sat down on the other side of her father and fixed her eyes on the back wall behind the princes and their guards, all carrying the banners of the foreign kingdoms. However, she wall all too aware that each man and woman’s eyes were fixed on the princess in the room, whose beauty was legendary.

Seeing that all eyes were starring at his daughter, Luke cleared his throat, shifting the eyes to him, “Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to Northumbria. In a few short days your young sons will compete for my daughter’s hand, joining our two kingdoms against the Vikings. If you would please introduce the young warriors so that Princess Clarissa might know the suitors who will vie for her hand.”

Clary felt her heart quicken in her chest as the young princes and their fathers, Kings of great power and wealth, made their way to the dais. The first to step up was King Julius of East Anglia, a tall, thin, but strong man, his black hair reaching the tips of his armored shoulders. He bowed his head and presented his son.

“Your majesty, this is my eldest son, Erik,” he proudly began, “He led our vast army against the Vikings and with his own sword, slaughtered a thousand warriors!” Resounding cheers from their men echoed off the walls of the throne room as Erik stood there with his chest puffed out. His eyes slid to Clary’s and she had to do her best not to roll her eyes.

Clary took in Erik’s form, he was a younger version than his father, but where his father was thin framed, Erik was broad and muscular. He must have stood over six and a half feet tall, he was a mountain of a man and he wouldn’t drop his gaze from her eyes. Clary bowed her head, as a sign of respect, but in reality giving her any chance to break the awkward eye contact.

“I wish you luck, Erik,” Luke said and gestured for the next King to present his son.

“My Lord,” a short, fat man bellowed, King Benedict of Bernicia, “I present to my only heir, Prince Phillip. He alone vanished two thousand Viking foes,” he paused for what seemed to be dramatic effect, “with his bare hands!”

There was complete silence throughout the hall as all eyes were trained on Prince Phillip of Bernicia. He was just as round and stout as his father, but where his father had pride, Phillip had nervous anxieties. It was clear to the hall that Phillip couldn’t find the sharp edge of a sword if you shoved it in his beefy hands.

Clary felt sorry for Prince Phillip, understanding that he wanted to be here as much as she did. She gave him a small smile, but he just scooted closer to his father. The King, annoyed by his cowardice in front of the other kingdoms, pushed his son away from him and back to their soldiers.

Luke cleared his throat once more and beckoned the next suitor from Deira.

“Gracious King, I am King Alfred of Deira, and I come before you with my only male heir, Prince Athelstan. With one hand he brought down three Viking ships and with the other, he shook his mighty sword!” Clary cocked her head to the side as she looked upon Prince Athelstan. He couldn’t have been more than thirteen years old where Clary had just turned sixteen. She didn’t think she could stomach marrying someone so young.

“Three Viking ships?” a male voice from another camp rang out, “He’s barely been taken away from his mother’s breast!” Half the room erupted in laughter while the other half brandished their swords.

Luke quickly arose from his seat and commanded the room to be silent, “Gentlemen, we are not here to bicker with one another. We have enough enemies to the north without making ourselves enemies of each other. Now, we still have one more introduction.” He turned to the last royal pair and gestured for them to begin.

When Clary saw who it was, she gasped, feeling herself shrink back against her chair. It was _him,_ Prince Sebastian of Mercia. Her mind unwillingly flashed back to their first meeting three years ago to where he claimed her as his as he molested her young flesh. Just the memory of it sent her skin prickling with goosebumps and her heart in her chest thudding against her rib cage like a rabid animal.

She cast her eyes down, unable to make contact with the piercing onyx eyes that she knew were staring at her right this moment.

“King Lucian of Northumbria,” King Valentine said, smiling a toothy grin, his eyes flitting over the silent Queen before him, bowing his head in her direction, “I believe the princess has already met my son, however, formalities will not be ignored.”

He gestured to his son, “This is Sebastian, crowned Prince of Mercia. I do not have to boast about his accomplishment, I have nothing to prove. Sebastian is his own man now and I could not be any prouder.” King Valentine step back from the dais and gestured for his son to speak.

“Your Grace,” Sebastian spoke, sending shivers down Clary’s spine. She had not heard his voice since their first encounter all those years ago, but she heard them almost every night in her dreams. She swallowed the bile in her throat as the familiar fear in her veins began pumping through her system. She gripped the edges of her seat, her knuckles turning white. She felt the color drain from her face when his black eyes slid to her, a smirk on his face.

“Princess,” he said bowing his head, “I’m looking forward to winning your hand, my lady, and taking you as a wife.” He smiled at her, a sinister smirk on his face that stopped her blood cold in her chest. She began to feel a hint of anger within her, berating herself to let this animal turn her into some sort of helpless prey. She stared back at him, her eyes piercing into his, her back straightening as she pushed the anxiety deep down, concentrating on her burning anger so that she wouldn’t run from the hall in a fit of tears.

“God commands us to be humble, Prince Sebastian, might I suggest a passage from His Word?” Clary said, a fake smile on her face. There was a collective gasp from the crowd, but Sebastian’s smirk only grew.

“Clarissa,” Luke muttered in between his teeth before turning back to the crowd. “I think it is time that we all retired to our respective chamber and rest up. Your young warriors will need it.”

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Well that went over well,” Valentine said to his son, pouring himself another glass of wine, “You seem to have made quite the impression with the young princess.” He turned to his son who was staring into the roaring fire in the middle of the wall across the room from him

Valentine continued, pouring his son a drink before her he walked over to where he still gazed into the fire, seemingly in deep thought. “Like her mother, she is both beautiful and gifted with a sharp tongue.” He handed his son his cup and drank his down in one gulp. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he waited for his son to speak. When he did not, he rolled his eyes.

“What is it, my boy,” Valentine said, his hand gripping his son’s shoulder.

“I will have her father,” Sebastian said not taking his eyes away from the flames. They reminded him of _her._ The flames were the exact color of her hair they he yearned to grasp in his fist as he fucked her in their bed.

“Yes, of course you will my son,” Valentine chuckled, knowing that once his son put his mind to something, he always got what he wanted. “All you have to do is win Lucian’s petty, little games.”

Sebastian turned to his father, a knowing smirk on his face, “I’ll play the game, father, but only for a short while and then I’ll take what’s mine.” He turned once again to the fire, getting lost in it’s heat and flickering light.

Valentine peered at his son, his eyes taking in his son’s posture and look of intensity, “You’re planning something, aren’t you, my boy?” He smiled as he saw the grin turn up the corners of his son’s mouth.

Sebastian smiled against the rim of his cup, “Let’s just say that when the opportunity presents itself, this charade will end and we will have take _who_ and what we want.” He, like his father, took the whole contents of his cup in one gulp. He set the empty glass on the mantle and walked off towards his bed chambers.

Valentine watched his son walk away two thoughts running throught his head. The first was that he was immensely proud of his boy, not wanting to play other’s games, but wanting to make other’s play his games. And the other feeling, a deep seeded feeling, that he would have to watch his back with his son. For if he ever fell out of favor with him, or by chance his son found no use for him, he knew that his son wouldn’t think twice about killing him.

A brief shiver ran through Valentine’s spine, knowing that his son was his own man that he couldn’t control. He had created him this way, not wanting him to be a puppet for anyone, including him, but now he thought that maybe he had signed his own death ledger.

Valentine walked over to the table once more and poured himself another drink, hoping that the wine would help his mind to relax. He knew that his son wouldn’t do anything, _yet_ , and besides, whatever he was planning would surely benefit him as well. He had said that the would get whatever they wanted. _Whoever_ they wanted.

Valentine let his mind wander to Queen Jocelyn. She had looked so stunning in her midnight blue dress, her red hair off her shoulder and fastened behind her head. Her eyes were a bright green color that he swore saw straight through him every time they past over him. She hadn’t let herself look at him longer than a second, but he had not let his eyes off of her’s for a single moment.

Valentine coughed and had to readjust his trousers as his shaft began to tent. He brought his hands to the table and leaned against the hard wood, the edge of the table pressing into his groin. His head fell down in between his shoulders, a groan slipping from his lips.

“Jocelyn,” he muttered, gripping his bulge in a strong grasp, imagining it was her hand wrapped around his growing girth, “I will have you in my bed, this I swear.” He wretched himself away from the table and made haste towards his own bed, eager to rid himself of the growing ache between his thighs while picturing her naked body beside his own.

 

~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jace stood on the dock, watching the last of the supplies being loaded onto his raiding ships. He felt the familiar feeling of anticipation grip his chest at the thought of raiding Saxon towns once more, taking their spoils and their men, women, and children for slaves. But at this moment he felt another feeling, this one relatively new, he felt uncertainty of the task that laid before him.

He felt Alec come up beside him, but didn’t say a word to him. The men often not needing to fill the empty silence with meaningless words, but just knowing that the other was there for support.

Jace needed answer and he needed them now.

“I wish to consult the gods,” he said, not taking his eyes off of the men before him, “I have to know that they are for us and not against us.”

Alec thought about what he said and turned to him, “Was it not Odin himself that set you on this path?” They both were reminded of the king’s dream that was the catalyst for the newest voyage to Northumbria.

“Yes,” Jace agreed, “However, Loki, the god of mischief, has led stronger men into battle under similar circumstances. I will not let Loki make me into one of his fools. No, we must ask the seer.” Jace turned around and started walking away from the pier, his feet taking him where he needed to go. He did not need to turn around and see if Alec was following him, he knew he would. Alec would follow him anywhere.

“I’m coming with you, then,” Alec said, “If only to make sure you don’t disrespect the gods with your tongue.”

Jace heard the smile in his friend’s voice and chuckled, “What would I ever do without you, Alec?” Jace turned around and flashed a smile at his comrade.

“Suffer at the mercy of Thor’s hammer comes to mind,” Alec muttered under his breath and he joined Jace as they laughed together.

For the rest of the way up the soundless hill, Jace and Alec walked, side by side, in their own silence. When they came upon the ancient caves of the gods they both stood before the threshold.

Jace straightened his shoulder and took a breath before he led himself over the threshold, Alec on his heels. The cave was dark, dimly lit with candles. Bones of animals and ancient symbols decorated the walls of the cave, speaking to the restless energy about the small space.

Jace’s eyes searched the dwelling for the seer, the Vikings link to the gods. He found him once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, sitting at the small wooden table in the center of the room.

“Jace Herondale, prince of the Vikings, I’ve been expecting you,” the seer said, his cat-like eyes almost glowing in the dark, reflecting the firelight of the candles surrounding him. “Sit,” he said gesturing towards the two chairs opposite him.

“You knew I was coming?” Jace said, his spine tingling. He never liked coming here. He felt closed in and yet so vulnerable, like he was at the mercy of what ever lie in the walls.

“And your friend,” the seer whispered, his eyes glancing toward Alec, a slight sparkle twinkling in his slightly glowing eyes, “I know what the gods allow me to know. See what they allow me to see. _Feel_ what they allow me to feel.” Jace heard Alec clear his throat, but he didn’t say anything.

“Right,” Jace muttered and took a seat in the proffered chair in front of him, eager to get his answers and out of this space. It was messing with this mind. Alec slid into the chair next to him, his eyes finding anything to settle on but the man in front of them. Jace was a little worried about his friend, he had never seen Alec look away from anything in his life. Alec was known for his silence and piercing blue eyes often making others turn their gaze away from his, but this, this was different.

Jace looked away from his friend and decided now was a good a time as any to get his business out of the way.

“Tomorrow we sail for Northumbria, Saxon lands,” he leaned towards the seer, ignoring the feeling in his muscle to pull back, “What do the gods say about this? Is it my fate to conquer the Saxons once more? Tell me, seer.”

“First of all,” the seer said, holding his hand up in protest, “Call me by my earthly name. Magnus.” He smiled, “ _Seer_ was my mother. Lovely woman, mind you, but she had an _affinity_ to curse me as a child and therefor, I go by Magnus and not _seer.”_

Jace, a little caught off guard by the changing of the atmosphere around him, could only nod, “Right, what do these gods say, Magnus?”

Magnus closed his eyes bringing his hands into his robes extracting what appeared to be small animal bones. Jace guessed bird and small rodent bones, used by the seer to communicate with the gods. Magnus began humming, ancient mumblings only he understood slipping from his mouth as he rattled the bones in his hands.

Jace and Alec flinched when Magnus’ hand shout out from his chest, throwing the bones across the table in front of them. Magnus’ eyes snapped open, narrowing upon the table, searching the bones for the secrets they held.

Jace waited with baited breath, his fingers splayed out against the table as he leaned over the surface attempting to read the bones himself.

“What do you see?” he whispered, afraid that talking in a normal tone would somehow ruin the line of communication between the gods and the seer.

“I see a woman, skin as light as the frozen water, eyes as green as the spring grass and hair, like flames, burning the souls of man,” the seer spoke with such intensity that Jace had to remind himself to breathe. The air around him felt as if it was closing him off.

“Is she a witch or a demon I must face?” Jace said, confused as the gods would send him across the seas to fight a woman.

“No,” Magnus said, “you will be consumed by her.” Magnus’ eyes flicked to Jace, his yellow eyes looking at him, but at the same time not. Perhaps he saw this meeting of Jace and this woman the gods spoke of behind his eyes in a place Jace could not reach.

Jace, tired of the riddles, slammed his hand on the table, ripping Magnus from his trance-like state, “I shall strike her down with Thor’s hammer!” He arose from his seat, his heart beating a heavy rhythm against his ribcage. He felt the familiar strong grip of Alec on his forearm and regained his composure. He slid back into his chair.

Magnus hadn’t moved an inch from when he was ripped from his trance. He simply looked at Jace, prince of the Vikings, no emotion in his face, “There are other ways to be consumed by a woman, young prince.”

Jace scoffed and pushed away from the table, “This is a waste of my time. I will go to this Northumbria and I will kill every woman by this description. Mark my words, Odin will have his glory or my Thor strike me down.” Jace turned on his heel and swiftly exited the lodging, not waiting for Alec to accompany him.

Magnus dragged his eyes from where Jace abruptly left and looked to Alec, his eyes downcast, “You care for him?”

Alec’s eyes flicked to Magnus’, his eyes cold, challenging, “He is like a brother to me.”

Magnus smiled, throwing his hands up in surrender, “I did not mean to imply anything else, Alexander.” His eyes softened as he watched Alec straighten when his full name was used. “Your _friend_ will be tested and he will need you to keep a clear head. It is the wish of the gods that you keep their warrior on the path to his fate.”

“And what is that faint?” Alec asked earnestly, subconsciously leaning forward, his hand outstretched in front of him.

Magnus laid his hand atop of Alec’s, “I only see what the gods allow me to see, Alec, nothing more.”

Alec felt a strange energy pass through his hand as he gazed into the glowing, feline eyes of the man sitting in front of him. He jerked himself away from the table, nearly stumbling over his seat as he stood.

“I should, umm, g-go,” he mumbled, “Thank you for, uh, your help.” Alec never did anything ungracefully, but he couldn’t seem to walk out of the cave with tripping over his feet at least twice. He closed his eyes and concentrated on finding his balance. When he was once again restored to his normal, silent self, he walked out of the room, leaving a smiling seer behind him.

Magnus watched after the young man with piercing blue eyes, a flickering of curiosity deep within his slit irises. He shook himself out of his thoughts and new that it was time for some serious praying to the gods. He got up from his table and began blowing out his candles one by one, plunging the small room into complete darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

The ship waded through the water, the air thick with fog, blocking their view on all sides of the boat. The men in the boat used their arms and back to gently row the oars in and out of the water. They had to slowly glide through the water. The fog would mask any obstacle in their path until it was too late.

Some of the men were sleeping, gathering there rest for the raid they knew was lying ahead, while other sharpened their axes, swords and other weapons.

Alec was wildling away at his arrows, marking their shafts with the archaic symbols of the gods. Some of the runes were ones he had seen in Magnus’ hut; they had spoken to him. They spoke of steady hands, forging a straight path and a clear mind. These were the building stones of an archer’s mind. He chipped away at the slender length, praying to Odin to bless her arrows.

Izzy sat, one hip hitched on the side of the boat, her arms crossed over her full breasts, her eyes searching through the fog. Her hair braided back in the typical shield-maiden way keeping her hair out of her face in battle, but a few loose strands managed to unbind themselves and framed her beautiful face, billowing in the wind as it caressed her soft features.

Jace stared into the bucket next to him, his sun dial floating on the surface. This was there way to land, cleverly using the suns rays and the shadows it cast, the Vikings were able to navigate the vast regions of the open water. However, the sea was overcast with clouds, blocking the sun’s rays from hitting the dial. They were floating blindly further and further into the sea, not knowing exactly which direction they were taking.

He looked up into the clouds, the pit in his stomach growing steadily deeper as each hour passed without site of land. This couldn’t be how it ended for him, not when Odin, himself, had put him on this path. He suddenly thought of Loki, god of mischief and he clenched his jaw in irritation. He had to close his eyes and steady his breathing before his temper got the best of him. All his crew needed was to see their leader lose his shit.

Jace looked out into the boat, seeing the solemn faces of his brothers. Some were shaking their heads, while others stared out into nothing.

“There is no land,” he heard a man speak to his right. He looked and saw the unmistakable, burly figure of Ivar. His eyes were burning with anger and a tinge of fear as he tirelessly rowed his oar in and out of the water.

“We aren’t sailing towards anything,” he began again, “just an open void.”

Jace ignored this, knowing that it was just his nerves talking.

“Ubbe, Lief,” he called to his brothers, “We have been persuaded by Loki, god of mischief to sale against the sea.” All eyes turned to Ivar and the rowing stopped by Jace still stood his ground, ignoring the mad man’s ramblings.

“Be quiet, Ivar,” Alec’s voice said, coolly, “Do not disturb the piece with your childish fears.”

“Childish fears?” he growled, rising from his seat. The atmosphere in the boat shifted, electricity sparking in the air. Thunder was heard in the distance and all eyes turned towards the sound, seeing lightening strike in the distance.

Ivar slowly turned his gaze back to Alec, his eyes narrowed to the ground, “Odin is angry with us. He sends Thor to punish him with his mighty hammer, Mjolnir.”

Alec looked to Jace, just the slightest amount of panic in his eyes. To any other person it was just like staring into his cold, icy blue eyes, but Jace knew. Jace barely nodded his head to Alec giving him a silent signal.

Alec stood from his seat and began bellowing orders to the men and women on the ship, “Everything that can be lost, must be thrown overboard, tie down any essential with rope, raise up the sails and take up your oars- we're in for a long night."

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Clary moved through the halls of the large castle in a bit of a trance. Today was the day- the day that she would be claimed as a prize to one of the princes of the kingdoms vying for her hand in marriage.

She placed her fist against her stomach, hoping the pressure would relieve the growing uneasiness deep inside her gut. Her hand brushed against the smooth, baby blue silk of her gown that her mother had ordered her to wear. Much like the dark green dress she had worn before, this dress was confining and she could hardly breath. She groaned in frustration at the whole situation.

She stopped in her tracks as her ears perked up to the sound of heavy boot falls coming up behind her. Thinking it was Simon, she straightened her shoulders and put a smile on her face.

“Simon, where have you—“ she froze. It wasn’t Sebastian that had walked up behind her, but Sebastian now stood in front of her. “Go away,” she muttered as she made to turn around and stalk off from his smirking face.

“You should do that more often,” he said, stepping into place right next to her, clearly not going to head her command to leave her alone.

Without looking at him, she spat, “What show disdain and horror at you presence. No problem.” She heard him chuckle under his breath and that only fueled her fire.

She turned on him, pushing against his too close physique with her small hands. She was rewarded when he took a few shaky steps to right himself upon being caught off guard by her aggressive movement. When he straightened up, he no longer had that stupid grin on his face, but his lip was in a hard line and his eyes seemed to turn all black.

Clary swallowed the nervous lump in her throat and took a step forehead, ignoring the voice screaming in her head to _run!_

“Listen, I don’t know who you think you are but—“ again her speech was caught off in a flurry of movement that landed her sailing backwards, her back slamming against the wall behind her. His body was against her’s in a second, her own hands trapped between her back and the wall, unable to free herself from his grasp.

Sebastian’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle her scream and his legs wretched her’s apart, preventing her from raising her knee between them. He had learned how feisty this one could be the first time they met. He was pleased to see a hint of panic in her lovely, green eyes when he narrowed his own at her.

He lowered his head to her’s and spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, “I’ll tell you who I am princess. I am your future husband, you future _king_ and you will respect me.”

He watched as her eyes turned from frightened to enraged as he let his hand slither up her hips and cup her left breast. He laid his forehead on her’s and moaned as caressed the petite mound in his hand.

“Just think of the things I could do with this body,” he said, running his thumbs over her hardening nipples. She gasped underneath his hand, feeling electric tingles shoot through her body and then feeling the heat rise to her cheeks as she was mortified by her body’s response.

“And to this mouth,” he said, slowly bringing his hand away from her lips.

“Get off me,” she seethed, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of her screaming for help, like the poor defenseless bird he wanted her to be; she would not be caged by the animal, not if her life depended on it.

“When I am ready,” he said, lowing his head to her’s. She knew he was going to kiss her and she renewed her struggles. The word “no” stumbled from her mouth like a mantra as he got closer and closer.

Just then, a clearing of a throat was heard and both of them still. They both looked to the man standing few feet away, _Simon, h_ is hand on his sword at his side, and a look of disdain towards Sebastian. Clary’s heart fluttered in her chest and she almost lost it right there.

“Get away from her,” he whispered angrily, his knuckles white from the grip he had on the hilt of his sword. He watched as Sebastian calculated in his mind, the odds of killing him, hiding the body, and keeping Clary quiet and decided that now was not the time. He was a patient man and so he conceded.

Clary felt Sebastian’s slender frame ease off of her, freeing her hands from their prison behind her. She slid past him, her breasts rubbing against his chest as she made her escape. She knew he’d done that on purpose. She walked over to Simon and stood at his side.

“Are you okay, Clary,” he said, his voice a hair softer, but his eyes still trained on his foe ahead.

“Yes,” she said, placing her hand on his arm, still gridlocked on the hilt of his sword, “Let’s just go, Simon.”

Sebastian smirked, “Yes, run along, be her hero in shining armor while you can. For when her place is solidified by me, you will be the first to go.” He sneered at the pair and turned on his heel and disappeared through the halls.

Clary couldn’t help the shiver run down her spine, she prayed silently to God that he would deliver her out of this evil. She felt Simon turn towards her and lifted his chin with his hand.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I could tell the King and Queen that you’re not feeling good?” he asked, sympathy deep within his eyes.

Clary took her hand and held it against his cheek, “You’re such a good friend, Simon, but no, I must do my duty. Besides, when did my mother and father ever believe our false tales?”

Simon chuckled, taking her hand on his arm as he escorted her outside the castle, “Well, there was that one time…”

“Don’t,” she laughed, “Just don’t.”

Simon smiled over at his best friend and led her in silence towards the magnificent tents set up in honor of the festivities, a crowd of people already gathering to cheer on the champions.

Clary straightened her shoulder for the second time that morning and trudged through the grass, pulling Simon behind. She would not let Sebastian’s intimidation frighten her into herself, no, she would appear before him, appearing unfazed by him. Yes; that was what she was going to do. She was Clarissa Garroway, Princess of Northumbria and it was going to take more than a good-looking golden boy with a chip on his shoulder to make her fall to her knees.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The shaking of his figure by two thin hands roughly awakened Jace. When his eyes finally adjusted against the light, he made out a curtain of hair around him, a young girl’s face staring back at him, smiling from ear to ear.

“Jace! Wake up! Land!” Izzy squealed. She pulled him up into a sitting position by his hands, his mutterings of her too high pitched voice this early in the morning lost on her ears.

Alec squatted down next to his friend’s still seated form and handed him a cup filled with ale, the last of their supply.

“We did it, Jace,” he said, a small smiling forming on his own lips. Jace quickly got to his feet and peered out of the boat. Sure enough, in the distance, a beach could be seen. Its bank full of white sand, the waters rushing up and down the coastline. He smiled, they actually did it.

He turned to his brothers and sisters in the boat. “Look,” he said gesturing to the land in front of them, “Odin was not mad at us after all; he sent Thor with his mighty hammer to beat against the sea and steer our ship to land.”

Jace’s eyes locked with Ivar’s and smiled, “The gods have not abandoned us yet.” Ivar nodded his head in silence conveying his apologies and Jace accepted with his own slight nodding of his head.

“Stretch your legs, ready your weapons,” he bellowed, “For when we land on the shore, we march!” His cry was rewarded with the shouts and yells of his comrades as the anticipation of raiding and pillaging again fuelled their Viking blood.

The boat rocked with the movement of bodies hustling around, readying there supplies for their advancement upon the kingdom of Northumbria. Jace watched as the shore came closer and closer, the choppy waves serving to propel them further and further into the harbor.

His mind flashed to the words of his father and that of the seer, Magnus. He was fated to find something, _or someone_ , during his time here and the mystery intrigued him. He would take any treasure or kill any enemy. He would not lose sight of his mission, to be the best Viking, warrior king that ever lived. He just had to keep his friends close and his enemies…closer.

 

~*~*~*~*~*

 

Clary said her goodbye to Simon as she was led up the steps to the dais where her mother and father were waiting. They each greeted her with a huge smile and it was all she could do not to fall on her knees and beg for them to stop this madness. She wanted to point her finger at Sebastian and tell them of his clear disrespect for her, but she knew that would only bring shame upon her family for a princess to act in such a manner and there was no way she was going to give into him like that.

She gave them a small smile and nodded her head in greeting, taking her seat on her father’s left side. Her mother was in her place, to his right. Seeing her father take a deep breath, Clary’s own breath stuck in her throat- _here we go_ , she thought.

Luke arose from his chair and stood towards the front edge of the dais, his boots hiding the wood in decisive steps, steps of a king. He raised his hands the laughing, cheering crowd, instantly silenced. It always amazed Clary how her father could command a room. Just with his presence, he had there respect- their love.

She watched and listened as her father welcomed the guests of Northumbria to the festivities and again thanked the foreign kings and their son’s for taking part in the games.

He turned his head towards his daughter and smiled, warmly, “This series of events is not about giving my daughter away to just _any_ man,” he proclaimed. “It is about securing her safety for we live in dark times. The Vikings draw near and in this time, we need to seek alliances with one another if we ever hope to defeat them.”

The crowd mumbled, a nervousness descending as it did whenever someone mentioned the barbaric north men. Luke through up his hands to silence the crowd once more.

“Now without further delay, let the tournament begin!” his fist rose in the air, succeeding at turning the crowds whispered worries into cheers and laughter once more.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 Jace led his army though the hills among the trees, bordering the city behind the wall. They waited and watched as a crowd gathered among tents of bright colors, hearing voices of shouts and laughter drifting over the cool air.

“What do you think is happening down there?” Izzy said as she came up beside Jace, a curious look on her beautiful face.

“I don’t know, maybe a ritual for their god?” Jace replied not really caring what was going on below.He was searching the settlement for any weaknesses that they might exploit.

“All of this for one god?” Alec said coming up between the two, taking in the scene with his own searching eyes.

Jace grunted, half listening to his adopted brother and sister and half not listening. He couldn’t see hardly anything from up here, so he turned to his friends and spoke, decisively.

“I’m going down there,” he held up his hand to Alec before he spoke a word against the idea, “I can’t see anything from up here.”

Alec sighed, knowing that when Jace was right, he knew it and there was no going back, “Fine, but I’m going with you.”

Jace nodded.

“Me too,” Izzy said as she followed the men down the slopes.

Alec whirled on his sister, “I don’t think so, Izzy. Its too dangerous.”

Izzy stomped her foot like the little sister she was in the face of her controlling older brother, “You’ve got to be kidding me. I can go to battle, but I can’t walk into our enemy’s camp to collect intel?” She crossed her arm’s refusing to back down and smiled when she saw the familiar slump of her brother’s shoulders in defeat. She leaned up and gave him a peck on the cheek and mussed his hair.

Alec scowled, wondering why he was given the two most annoying, bull headed, younger siblings to deal with.

They shed their animal furs and all their weapons but their swords, not wanting to draw attention to themselves as Vikings. The made there way onto the dirt path leading to the gate, keeping a weary eye on the guards that kept a look out for any signs of danger.

Jace was a firm believer in the notion that if you made it appear to other’s that you knew what you were doing, that you belonged, they would have no other choice but to accept anything you threw at them. So, with this in mind, he strode up to the nearest gatekeeper and told them that he and his siblings were farmers come to join in the festivities. He didn’t break eye contact with the guard.

The guard looked at him, not seeing the man before him flinched, and decided that they were allowed to pass. He hollered up at his comrade to open the gate and the three Viking warriors were granted access into the stronghold.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Clary barely watched the games as they took place before her. She spent her time either counting the blades of grass or picking at the hem of her sleeves. Every once in a while her mother would bark at her to pay attention, but Clary would quickly lose interest again and her mind would wander.

She knew what was happening and it was because the crowd was cheering _his_ name either. She knew that he was a far more experienced fighter than the other suitors combined, and she supposed, to some of the men commissioned into her father’s army.

She heard her mother mutter an idle threat under her breath and Clary sighed bringing her eyes to the scene before her. Just as she lifted her head, Sebastian’s sword found the naked shoulder of Prince Erik, slicing into his skin, a river of blood trickling down his arm.

The crowd cheered Sebastian’s name as Prince Erik walked out of the ring, head heavy with defeat. Clary just stared at Sebastian, hoping that God would give her the gift of Holy fire and she could char him on the spot with her gaze. But, like it was with the last couple of prayers regarding the murder of Prince Sebastian, none of her wishes had been granted.

She would have yelled and thrown her tiny fists towards the sky, but drawing that kind of attention, especially from a princess, was unheard of. As a lady of the court, she was to be seen and rarely heard from unless another male addressed her specifically. Clary had to literally close her eyes, preventing herself from rolling her eyes in disgust.

Her eyes snapped open when she heard her own mother and father clapping their hands in recognition of Sebastian’s victory over the other contenders in the latest game of sword skill.

Her eyes flew to Sebastian and her blood ran cold as she locked eyes with his. He had that smirk on his face again and her hand twitched to smack it off his face. He turned to her and bowed to his waist. The crowd continued it’s cheer until Luke once again stood at the forefront of the dais.

“And now ladies and gentlemen, for our final contest, may I direct you to our archery range,” Luke yelled from his standing position. “Would the contestants please pick up their bow and arrows and proceed to their marks.”

Murmurs of excitement surrounded the young princes as they stretched the lines on their bows, testing their strength. When they were all at the ready, the first prince, Prince Athelstan, let his arrow fly.

Clary watched with baited breath as it soared through the air. She nearly had to stifle the laughter when his arrow sailed clear over the target. The crowd laughed as Prince Athelstan walked back to his seething father in shame. Clary immediately felt ashamed for having laughed at his error, but only slightly.

She watched as the second prince, Prince Phillip, loaded his arrow onto his bow and fired at the same target. The arrow in bedded itself into the outermost ring of the target and the crowd cheered. The prince turned around and opened his arms to receive their praise. He walked back to his father and got a firm pat on the back.

Prince Erik took his arm and his arrow flew though the air and dug itself just outside the red circle in the middle. Clary blew out the breath she didn’t know she had and felt the sweat forming on her forehead. Things were just getting a little close for her comfort.

And then _he_ stood up to the mark. Sebastian loaded his arrow and without even taking a second to eye his target, he let his arrow fly. Clary watched, as if in slow motion, the arrow gliding through the air, straight and true. Her instincts told her that this was a good one and her stomach fell.

She heard the whizzing of the arrow before it sunk into the very center of the target. The crowd went wild as their new champion turned to face them.

The King and Queen clapped the congratulations again for the Prince of Mercia, Valentine not far wear they stood. Valentine turned towards the dais and looked right into Queen Jocelyn’s piercing green eyes.

“It looks like we’re going to be in-laws, Jocelyn,” he smiled crookedly at her, but Jocelyn held her composer.

“That’s _Queen Jocelyn_ , King Valentine,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Of course,” Valentine said, reluctantly before returning his attention to his son’s victory. _If only for a little while longer_ , he added in his own mind.

The Queen turned away from Valentine, stifling a shudder that threatened her composer whenever he was around and decided to focus on her daughter. She turned to her daughter with a nervous smile, but stopped immediately upon seeing the empty space beside her husband.

“Where is she?” Jocelyn hissed and Luke turned to find that Clary had gone. Both the King and Queen shouted Clary’s name, which stirred a fuss among the crowd.

Sebastian smirked, thinking that the little princess had run away from him. _If she thought she could outrun him then she would sorely---_

“My name is Clarissa Garroway,” a strong, feminine voice rang out. There was a collective gasp among the crowd as Clary emerged as a hooded figure from the mass of people, bow in one hand and arrow in another. “And I’ll be shooting for my own hand!” She ripped off her hood and stood her ground.

She went to lift her arms, but her dress prevented the movement of her arms high enough to properly fire a bow. Frustrated, she arched her back and crossed her arms in front of her. She was rewarded with the sound of her dress ripping down her back.

She didn’t let the fact that she was exposing her corset to everyone around her bother her. She stretched her arms up and heard the same ripping coming from the seems under arms. Able to move freely now, Clary shook herself and concentrated on the task at hand.

Sebastian stood back and watched the fire in this young girl’s eyes and he felt something stir beneath him. He observed her using the bow and arrow like it was a natural extension of her arm. He would have to watch her around sharp objects from now on. He chuckled to himself and watched the events as they followed.

“Clarissa!” Clary heard her mother yell from across the way, but Clary just placed her arrow against her bow, the familiar feeling of wood against her hands. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and let her arrow fly.


	5. Chapter 5

“Welcome to Eoforwic,” the guard spoke, leading the travelers through the fortress gate. Jace, hands clasped behind his back, listened eagerly as the guard told them about the capital of Northumbria, Alec and Izzy behind him, flanking him on either side.

“Eoforwic is Northumbria’s epicenter for trade, linking most of the greater Saxon countries with foreign lands, such as France and the Rhineland.”

Jace found this piece of information very interesting. “Eoforwic must see a lot of valuable merchandise pass through its gates. How do you protect it against those who would be willing to steal from you?”

“You speak of the northmen?” the guard asked, turning his head slightly towards Jace. At Jace’s nod, the guard continued, “These walls have never been breached by the pagan heathens. It is well guarded and we have the will of God on our side.”

“And what did the priests at Lindisfarne have?” Jace smirked, before he heard Alec hiss his name. The guard, having taken great offense to Jace’s harsh reminder of the fate of Lindisfarne, quickly turned on the three travelers, sword pointing directly at Jace’s neck.

No sooner had the guard’s sword left his sheath, Alec and Izzy had drawn their own weapons. Jace slowly raised his hands in surrender, “We don’t want any trouble, sir.”

The guard’s arm, holding the broadsword, shook a little, “You’re one of them, aren’t you? You’re pagans?”

Before the guard could yell for help, Jace moved with lightening speed, knocking the guard’s sword out of his trembling hand. He covered the guard’s mouth with his hand and forced him into a small, dark alley. Izzy and Alec quickly surveyed their surroundings for any witnesses and once they were certain there were none, quickly followed Jace into the darkness.

“I am going to take my hand away from your mouth,” Jace whispered, his whole body tense and ready for a fight, “If you scream or call for help in any way, we will slit your throat.” The guard slowly nodded his head in understanding and Jace slowly removed his hand from the guard’s mouth.

“Dear Father in Heaven,” the guard whined, looking towards the sky, “Do not forsake me in the presence of thy enemy, oh Lord. Deliver me from these shadows or shepherd this servant to his salvation.” The man began to weep, tears spilling over his cheeks. He sank to his knees, his palms turned upward, begging his god to hear his pleas.

Jace looked to Alec and Izzy and saw his own startled look on their faces. He looked to the blubbering male in front of him and decided that all this noise was going to attract the wrong kind of attention.

“I’ll deliver you to your god, Saxon,” Jace said, bringing his sword over his head. The guard cried out as Jace brought down his blade, instantly burying it into the man’s upturned skull. The man’s cries instantly ceased as Jace removed his weapon from the man’s bleeding head. His body slumped forward, hitting the ground with a thud.

“Jace!” Izzy squeaked, sheathing her sword and crouching down next to the twitching body. “Dammit, this was not the plan- in and out, no blood was to be spilt.”

Jace shrugged his shoulder, “He was of no use to us, Isabelle. It was either kill him or take him as a prisoner.” Jace looked to Alec to help defend his actions, but Alec was silent, placing his own sword back into its holder.

“It was reckless and stupid, Jace,” Alec said, his hands clasped behind his back, as he covered the small distance between him and the other two. He looked to the ground where the lifeless body of the Saxon laid. “But what is done is done; we need to do something with the body. We don’t want them finding him and shutting this whole place down.” Jace agreed, shaking his head, thinking of what they should do next.

Izzy stood up, placing her hands on her hips, a frown creasing her beautifully, sharp features. She turned to the men, deep in thought and spoke, “Alec and I will take care of the body. Jace, use the armor to blend into the crowd. You’ll be less likely to be bothered if you appear to be one of their guards as opposed to a single man walking the streets yourself.”

Alec frowned, “I don’t like the idea of splitting up, Izzy. What if something happens?”

Izzy rolled her eyes, “Oh please, Alec, Jace can take care of himself. Besides, I can’t dispose of this body all by myself!” She folded her arms against her chest and waited for her brother to continue to argue with her, but like always, to his chagrin, Alec saw his sister’s point and relented.

“Fine,” he muttered, “Jace, are you okay with this plan?” The two Lightwood siblings looked to Jace, their identical, thin eyebrows arched in question.

Jace had been cleaning his blade with a piece of his cloak and pursed his lips. He looked at the two before him and gasped, dramatically.

“Oh, you’re talking to me?” he said, sarcastically, “For a second there I forgot I was the one in charge.” His stared back at them, a hit of playfulness behind his sparkling, golden eyes.

Alec rolled his eyes, “Just put on the damn armor, Jace.” Izzy bit her tongue, not willing to encourage Jace. She was trying to be serious and right now she should be mad at her adoptive brother and his rash decisions.

Izzy helped Alec and Jace to switch Jace’s clothes with the guards, hoping that his appearance upon being found would make the public think he was a drunkard. They knew murders ran rampant in the alleyways of these Saxon towns, but unless the victim had any importance, most of it went unnoticed.

When Jace fastened the last buckle in his armor, he looked to Alec and Izzy, “Once you get rid of the body, find me. I’m going to see if there are any weaknesses in the outside wall.” He peered out of the alleyway and looked back towards the way they came. “The wall itself is too high to climb; we would be sitting ducks on any ladders we built to scale the walls,” he creased his forehead in concentration.

Alec, eyes cast down in thought as well, spoke when an idea sparked, “But if we can somehow get inside and take control of the gate, we can let ourselves in with minimal fatalities.”

“Exactly,” Jace mused, “We will have one shot at this and we mustn’t waist it.”

“Then it’s settled,” Izzy piped up, “Find this weakness so we can get back to camp.”

Jace nodded his head before turning on his heel and stalking out of the alleyway. Alec watched his retreating figure and sighed, nothing ever good came out of Jace going off by himself. Alec turned when he heard his sister’s over exaggerated clearing of her throat. He looked her way and saw her eyebrow turned upwards at him.

“What?” he asked, a little snap in his tone.

“I’m just wondering when you’re going to stop worrying about him, Alec,” she said, her eyes softening under her brother’s slumping shoulders. She reached out to touch his arm, “I know how you feel about him, but I’m worried you’re closing yourself off to new opportunities because you’re holding out hope for something that isn’t your fate.”

Alec looked at his feet, unable to look into his sister’s eyes, “What is my fate, Izzy?” His voice cracking on her name, causing Izzy’s heart to shatter into a million little pieces for her brother.

Izzy pulled his chin up with her small, yet deceivingly strong hands, so she could look into his eyes. “I don’t know, Alec, only the gods know our fate. But I have to believe there is someone out there for you. There has to be, for all of us.”

Alec smiled at his baby sister, for all the times she made him moan and groan in annoyance, there were these small, intimate moments where he was grateful to have such a loving and caring person to share his most protected thoughts. Sure, he trusted Jace with his life and thought of him as a brother, but there was a unique connection with his sister, that made him feel safe and he cherished that.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve such a special gift from the gods in you, Isabelle,” he said, pulling her into a hug. He rarely showed his affection for his loved one’s in physical contact, but on some occasions he just needed it.

Izzy was shocked when her brother pulled her into his arms and she wrapped her arms around him, “I don’t know either, brother; all I know is that I will always be here for you.” She allowed herself to breathe in her brother’s sent. He smelled of wood and grass and she committed it to her memory. They stood like that for a brief moment, letting the love between them wrap a protective barrier around themselves.

Izzy was the first to break away from the embrace, wiping her eyes quickly, careful not to mess up her eye paint. “If my paint is running, making me look like a sea witch, then you’re the first person I’m coming after, Alec Lightwood,” she threatened, light-heartedly over her shoulder, as she walked back over to the paling body a few yards away. Alec chuckled as he followed his sister towards the body, both of the Lightwoods bending down on opposite ends and heaving the corpse into their arms.

“Lets just get rid of this dead body before you start making new ones, hmm,” he said, smirking at his little sister.

“Fine,” she said, hauling the man’s legs up and around her waist, “Lets be quick about it; it’ll be dark soon and Odin only knows what Jace has been doing this whole time.”

“And now whose worried?” Alec said, arching an eyebrow at his sister.

Izzy rolled her eyes, “Just hurry up,” she muttered and the two of them picked up their speed as they smuggled the corpse down alleyways searching for a place to stash the body.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jace made his way through the streets of Eoforwic, the sounds of his chainmail clinking under the swinging of his arms. He wondered briefly how the Saxons were able to effectively maneuver their bodies on the battlefield. The armor he wore was both exceedingly heavy and constricting. He was dying to rip it off and free his movements, but he kept up his charade and held off.

Jace admired the tall, stone buildings lining the cobblestone streets, his boots clickinging against the hard ground. He nodded his head towards the occasional passerby as they headed in the opposite direction. That’s when he noticed why he felt something was out of place. He looked around; the streets were nearly empty. For a place that was supposedly the center of Saxon trade, the marketplace was relatively deserted.

Jace stopped a man and a woman walking towards him, both dressed in clean clothes and their skin free of dirt. They looked to be a couple of wealth and Jace took the opportunity to ask where all the people were. The man and the woman looked at each other before turning surprised eyes back to him. Jace had to refrain from gulping at the realization that maybe this seemingly innocent question was an obvious one to these people.

Jace straightened up to his full height, “Well?”

The man gaped, clearing his throat and answered, his voice shaking under the soldier’s harsh inquiry. “Well, uh, the King has invited the townspeople to join himself and the Queen,” he began, “You see, today is the day the young princes will compete for the princess’ hand in marriage.”

Jace thought this amusing, “Is this how you settle all your marriage disputes?” Upon seeing the confused and frowning looks these people were giving him once again, he added, “Sorry, I am new here. Still trying to learn the customs.”

The couple seemed to understand this wayward man’s excuse and settled back into themselves, comfortably.

“No,” the gentlemen said, “This is so much more than a simple marriage proposal; this is a much needed alliance between the kingdoms as the threat of the pagans is upon us.”

“Charles,” the woman gasped, “You know I don’t like it when you say that word out loud.” Jace watched through laughing eyes as the man and woman crossed themselves over their chests in the Christian symbol of the cross.

“It is what it is, Elizabeth,” Charles said, “Choosing to ignore our dangerous reality by hiding in fear of a name, will not protect us against their impending threats.”

“Have you ever fought the northmen?” Elizabeth asked, her eyes barely flicking to Jace’s, as if she was almost too embarrassed to ask the question, “I heard their eyes are as black as the night and their hands or not hands, but demonic talons, distorting their bodies as they do the Devil’s work.” She crossed herself again, a look of horror crossing her face.

Jace had to carefully school his features as he replied, “I’ve seen my fair share of northmen, my lady.” He looked around, making sure they were alone. He watched in amusement as the man and his wife did the same. He waved them in closer and waited as they stepped closer to him, leaning their heads in his direction.

“I do not know about talons,” he whispered, “but what I do remember are the battle cries.” He watched as their eyes dilated in fear.

“What of their battle cries?” the man whispered, holding on to his wife. Jace briefly wondered to whom he was trying to comfort more, himself or his wife.

“It was like nothing I’ve ever heard before,” Jace murmured, looking past the man and woman, as if remembering a far off memory. “Just before they attack, the northman call out to their pagan gods, the sounds in the air making men claw at their own ears.”

“Dear Lord in Heaven,” the woman whispered, her eyes narrowing to the ground, “Have mercy on us all.”

Jace took pity on the man and woman before him, “This town isn’t safe anymore.” He watched, as their eyes grew wide with fear. “Take what you can carry and head east. Do not look back, do not tell your neighbors. We do not want to create mass hysteria.”

The gentlemen eyed Jace cautiously, “Who are you again?”

“Someone who is trying to save you from a fate worse than death,” Jace said, growing tired of the couple, “Do with my warning as you please. But know, the pagans will show you no mercy.”

“Charles,” Elizabeth pleaded, “Lets take this kind man’s warning to heart. I’ve always wanted to visit my cousin in France. Lets just go now, while we can.”

Charles let his eyes fall on his wife and Jace watched as they softened against the clear fear staring back at him. He took his wife’s hands in his and nodded.

“Very well, we leave tonight for France,” he turned to face the soldier again, but he was gone. A shudder running down his spine, Charles led his wife back to their home, packing lightly as their trip would be long and dangerous.

 

 

 

Realizing he had spent too much time with the Christian couple, Jace once again returned to his original mission. Sticking to the outer boundaries of the town, Jace ran his hands along the stone infrastructure of the wall. Jace would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he was impressed with the Saxon fortification of their city.

His hands ran across a section of the wall that was worn away from old age and he let his mind wonder over all that this wall had seen- years of settlement, a growing city blooming within it’s walls, countless battles fought for it’s land.

Jace was brought roughly out of his thoughts when his ears perked up to the sound of running water coming from down below. Stepping back a few feet, Jace observed the wall’s foundation and was pleased to see iron bars, surmising that this could be his way in.

Jace fished in the ground for a rock and tossed it through the bars, hearing the rock splash against the water’s surface, he guessed that the underground sewer couldn’t be more than five feet tall. He tugged on the iron bars and heard the creaking of the bars between his hands. This was the weakness he was looking for.

]“Perfect,” he muttered as he made his way to turn back to find Izzy and Alec when a voice sounded behind him.

“Solider, why are you not at your post?” a male, and telling from his Saxon coat of arms on his armor, Jace presumed that this was some sort of general, coming up to him with a stern look on his face.

            His mind whirling with a possible excuse, Jace cleared his throat, “I thought I heard something and thought I would check it out.” Jace eyed the general and tried to appear as if he really meant his lie. “Sir,” he quickly added. The general seemed not to believe him, but decided to let the young man off the hook; he had other things to worry about.

“Very well then,” he said, “Now that you’ve seen to your business, how’s about you pick up your skirts and go protect your king and queen.”

“Sir?” Jace asked, momentarily confused.

“At the bloody festival, you idiot,” the general fumed and he stalked off muttering something about insubordinate, young morons and how they were slowly killing chivalry.

“Right,” Jace muttered. He supposed he would check out this great festival that had the whole town gathering in one place. It might be in his best interest to observe the townspeople and their leaders in their own habitat. It was always a good strategy to know your enemies in times of peace and war.

Jace walked towards the town’s northern most section, letting the sounds of a crowd cheering lead him through the streets, quickly becoming curious about how the Christians entertained themselves.

Coming upon a vast clearing, Jace was met with several red and yellow tents lined in rows, people walking here and there, chattering with one another, and laughing in some cases. Men held pints of what looked like ale and the woman whispered behind their fans, giggling as they eyed other men and woman joining the festivities.

Jace walked among the tents, downing his own pint of beer, _free of charge to the good, sir_ , he had been told and made his way to the center of the grounds. The closer he got to the yelling and cheering, the more he was able to see that a crowd was gathering around a spectacle that sounded to Jace like the clashing of weapons.

Intrigued, Jace sauntered over to the crowd and moved about for a better view of what held everyone’s attention. He himself was a little amused when he saw what appeared to be a sword skill competition between two men, one being exceedingly tall and muscular, while the other was slightly shorter, but had the footwork of a true swordsman.

Jace found himself cheering for the smaller, blonde male. He always liked the underdogs in any given situation. Any chance to throw fate a blow when the underrated came out on top gave Jace a thrill through his veins. He found himself cheering for the blonde when the rest of the crowd did so and throwing heinous slanders when the competitor dealt his blows.

Jace actually raised his fist in unison with the other Saxons when the blonde boy drew first blood. A great cheer sounded through the crowd and Jace found himself slapping other men on the backs and sharing in their delight. He had to mentally check himself as the mood of the crowd was swallowing him whole. He had to keep his mission in check. _What the heck_ , he thought to himself, _seeing one Saxon kill another can’t be that bad._

Turning to enjoy the fight once more, he was greatly puzzled when both men put their swords down, the bigger male walking off in what seemed like shame, his head sunk below his shoulders and the other male welcoming the audience’s applause and whistles. Was this not a fight to the kill? Why were they stopping when the good part was only just the beginning? Jace was about to stalk off, when he heard the crowd hush as a strong, male voice rang out above them.

Jace moved closer to the voice, wanting to get a peak at this Saxon leader. A man, maybe in his late thirties stood on a dais, not a hundred feet where Jace, himself, stood. Before him, Jace took in the appearance of the Saxon king. He had brown hair and aged, blue eyes that looked to have immense wisdom and maybe a little good naturedness. The way he spoke to his subjects gave Jace the insight that maybe he respected his people and maybe that respect was returned in the way that the people hung to his every word.

Jace looked to the king's right and saw a woman sitting on a wooden thrown. She was remarkably beautiful, her own age showing her class and her eyes sparkling as she listened to her husband speak. Jace saw her red hair and something in the back of his mind. Shaking off the nuisance, he craned his head to try and see the other figure on the dais, but the king’s large figure was in his way. He supposed it was the unlucky princess, the poor girl, being auctioned off as a prize so her father could secure an alliance against the Vikings. _Against him._ Jace just smirked and turned his attention back to the speaking king.

Jace listened to this king and noted that he was directing the audience to the next competition- archery. Jace nearly snorted. He wished Alec was here to see this. He knew, without a doubt, that his best friend could out skill any man or woman with a bow and arrow. Still, he was planted to his spot, his curiosity preventing any and all movement with his feet.

He watched and laughed with the crowd as the first two contestants shamed their families with their clear lack of archery skill. He even gasped in genuine surprise when the third contestant flew his arrow dangerously close to the target. There were murmurings in the crowd and then all went silent as the blonde boy from the sword skill fight emerged and settled on his mark. Jace’s eyes widened as the young man took his stance and immediately let his arrow flow from his bow, not taking the precious moments to align his arrow with the target a couple hundred yards away.

Jace waited with baited breath, as it seemed he watched the arrow flying through the air. The crowd erupted in a victorious cheer as the young man’s arrow buried itself in the dead center of the red epicenter of the target. Jace’s hand flew to his forehead in amazement, _that guy is good._ If he weren’t a fucking Christian, Jace might consider recruiting him for his army, _might,_ being the operative word.

Jace was momentarily brought out of his celebration when a small, yet determined figure ran past him, bumping his shoulder, nearly spilling his ale down his front. He whipped his head to the side, the crowd’s vibe making his own warrior blood boil for a flight. However, all her saw was a small figure, maybe a foot shorter than he was and a good deal thinner in frame, a bright blue cloak billowing behind the offender.

 He watched as the figure disappeared into the crowd, most likely seeking a closer look and Jace just shrugged. Seeing as it was probably the best time to catch up with Izzy and Alec, he started to turn when he heard a feminine voice ring out over the crowd- instantly swallowing them into silence.

“My name is Clarissa Garroway,” the feminine voice called out.

Jace craned his neck, seeing he exact blue coat that had earlier brushed against him be pulled back, the hood falling away from a head full of fiery, red tendrils. His mouth gaped open and dried instantly, his eyes unmoving from the petite woman, commanding the attention of every soul within the foreseeable distance.

He watched her load her arrow into her bow, defiantly against the expressed wishes of the king and queen. He suspected that she was, in fact, the princess. He saw her take in a steadying breath and released her arrow into the air.

Jace watched as her arrow tore through the shaft of the blonde boy’s perfect shot, shredding the arrow into shreds. There was no yelling, there were no shouts of victory; there was only silence.

Jace felt Izzy and Alec position themselves behind him, but he didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge their presence. His eyes were still glued to the arrow, still humming with the vibrations of its sudden halt in its trajectory.

“Jace,” Alec muttered, placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder, “We need to go.”

“Be silent,” Jace hissed his command. He froze in place as he watched the woman spin on her heel and head straight towards him. He gulped seeing the fire deep within her green eyes way before she even got within yards of him, but he still could not move from his spot.

The crowd parted down the middle, allowing the princess to maneuver through them with ease. It took him a moment to register the fact that she was no mere feet from where he stood, looking at him incredulously.

“Move,” the command was faint, but Jace heard it and obeyed, forcing his legs to move with all his might. He watched her as she brushed past him once more, this time staying clear of his shoulder. He and the other members of the crowd, including Izzy and Alec watched as the princess’s figured disappeared among the tents, guards quickly following in her path, their king and queen quickly in tow.

Jace felt Izzy’s light touch of her hand on his forearm, tugging him lightly, “Jace, lets go, please.” The soft begging in her voice is what took him out of his trance and he slowly nodded his head in acceptance. He needed to get out of there, the walls felt incredibly constricting and the armor was all but crushing him on the inside. He needed to feel the fresh air again and shake him of this heavy beat that now pumped through his veins. Whatever he had just felt, staring into those piercing green eyes, flowing red locks, bristling in the wind…he didn’t want any part of it.


	6. Chapter 6

Breath in _. Steady yourself; this is your moment._

Breath out _._ _You are the master of your own fate._

Let go. _Oh God, please let this work!_

Her eyes shut, not needing them to _see,_ but allowing her other senses and instincts to take over, Clary released her arrow beneath her fingers. She felt the movement of air beside her cheek, a kiss of wind, as the arrow’s momentum propelled it forward. The smooth, narrow wood grazed against her fingers as the arrow left her bow, straight and true. Her ears buzzed with the arrow’s vibration as it ripped through the air towards its target. It was beautiful, so natural, so…freeing.

A harsh sound brought her out of her thoughts, her eyes snapping open. She watched as tiny splinters of wood fell to the ground. Her arrow had cut cleanly through Sebastian’s, leaving it the only arrow embedded in the target.

She finally released the breath she had been holding, her shoulders slumping as all the air rushed out of her. She felt a flurry build in her chest, a smile playing on her lips.

She turned her eyes to the dais where she knew her mother and father would be standing, no doubt a little embarrassed, but hopefully, more proud of her taking her fate in her own hands.

Her heart stilled when she saw their angry looks, both ashamed of her outburst and humiliated in front of the townspeople and their guests. Clary’s forming smile quickly disappeared from her lips, her eyes hardening as she felt that she had just lost so much more than her own freedom- but she had also lost the respect of her own parents.

Her heart dropped to her stomach as she felt the last hope of saving herself slip right through her grasp, just as she had let her arrow slip through her fingers. It was all so unfair. She felt angry tears burning behind her eyes and had to ball her small wrists into tight fists in order to keep her crumbling demeanor in check. She straightened her shoulders, forcing herself to accept whatever was to happen next, but she cringed when a very familiar throat clearing scraped against her ears. _Sebastian._

Clary’s green eyes swiveled to Sebastian, all the hurt, anger, disgust, pouring from her through her gaze, but he didn’t flinch. He merely stood there, a smirk across his beautifully, sharp features. He knew she had lost to him, they both knew it and he was pleased to see that they both were now acknowledging it.

Clary knew herself too well. She knew that if she let her anger get the better of her, she would be reduced to a sputtering, crying mess. This would no only humiliate her and her family, it would show Sebastian that he had won and she would be disgraced by her people for her poor behavior.

With one last look at the dais, Clary turned on her heel and stalked back through the still and silent line of onlookers. She did not have to utter a single word to the townspeople as she moved through their ranks; they made way for the glowering princess, none of them willing to get in her way. Clary’s eyes remained narrowed on the ground as she walked, unable to meet any of their eyes, not wanting to see their sympathy or their embarrassment of her behavior. It was all too much. Clary just wanted to get as far away from here as possible.

Her mind focused on nothing but her retreat, Clary nearly stumbled into a pair of boots that quickly came within her view of the ground. She halted, waiting for them to move out of her way, but they stood there, planted in the ground, like two oak tree roots, not budging.

Clary let out a small growl under her breath, her blood boiling beneath her skin as the person was stopping her from making her escape, fleeing the humiliation she had brought onto herself.

Slowly, Clary dragged her eyes to meet the man’s eyes, gathering her wits to order him out of her way. As her eyes travelled his figure, she became acutely aware of the man’s appearance. He stood tall and confident, even under the heavy weight of his armor. The breadth of his shoulder made her mouth momentarily dry, whispers of golden hair falling just below their surface.

When Clary finally glued her eyes to his face, she was struck by the brilliant shade of gold within the stranger’s eyes. She suddenly found herself swallowing against a rather large lump in her throat as she felt totally surrounded by the man, his gaze pulling her in. His eyes shown like the sun, his beauty somehow working as it’s own gravitation pull, her own body wanting to get closer.

_Whoa,_ Clary thought, shaking herself out of her trance. _Get a grip, Clarissa._

Clary straightened her posture and narrowed her eyes to his broad chest, unable to meet his eyes a second time.

“Move,” she commanded, not meaning for it to come out so harshly, but it did it’s job. The soldier stepped to the side, allowing her to move around his finger and disappear into the crowd. She picked up her pace, the anger sitting just below the surface causing her to feel volatile and unpredictable. She let the breeze run through her hair, billowing her cloak, as she made her way to the safety and privacy of the castle. She needed those walls more than ever now. Never before had she felt so unprotected outside those walls, but right now, she couldn’t think of anywhere else she would want to be.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Watching his unwilling, future bride wade through the crowd, trying to escape her fate, sent a light dancing in his eyes. _You can run, Clarissa, but you can’t hide forever,_ he thought to himself. A small smirk pulled at the edges of his mouth; she wasn’t going to make it easy for him, he knew that, but Sebastian could never back away from a decent challenge. She would see that he was the one in control and that obedience was her only option.

Bending down to retrieve his belongings, his mind kept playing the moment when his blushing bride realized that even after her dramatic show of disobedience and disrespect, he had still one. They both knew now that her fate had been sealed. She was his now. His to own, his to enjoy, his to corrupt.

He smirked seeing the king and queen run after their daughter, their own faces ones of humiliation and apology. This was all too easy, he thought, it was almost a pity.

Sebastian stiffened immediately upon feeling the familiar hand of his father clap unceremoniously atop his shoulder. His face set into a scowl as he turned his head, his father smelling of stale beer. His father was drunk, his eyes glassy, but held the same light his own eyes had held just moments ago

“She’s going to be quite the handful, my son,” Valentine spoke, squeezing his son’s shoulder slightly. He leaned in, his mouth close to his son’s ear as he watched the last of the soldiers disappear from view. “The ones who put up the most fight are usually the ones who are the most worth it,” he ruffled the back of Sebastian’s hair, as a father would to his young son.

Sebastian reeled from his father’s touch, his black eyes blazing with disgust, “I can handle Clarissa, father,” he spat. “She won’t have anyone else to fight for or run to but me, just you wait and see.”

Valentine wasn’t listening to his son, instead he watched as the familiar figure of Queen Jocelyn disappeared among the tents, closely on the heels of her escaping daughter. His mind wandered to the other night when he had pictured her, naked in his bed. She was a magnificent woman, Jocelyn. Even in the face of her daughter’s humiliation, she handled herself with the poise of a queen and the grace of a woman. He could feel his pants growing tight once more and had to shake himself out of his thoughts, before someone noticed.

Valentine’s eyes fell back to Sebastian’s. “I’ve been waiting long enough, son,” he muttered, “You’ve told me nothing of what you’re planning.” When he noticed that Sebastian was ignoring him, he dropped his hands, in defeat, his eyes growing cold with suspicion and maybe, if he was completely honest, distrust.

Sebastian’s attention was pulled back to his father as he felt his icy stare sink through his skin. He looked into his father’s eyes and smirked, “Planning?”

“Don’t patronize me, Sebastian,” Valentine warned, his voice even and cool, “I am still your father, _your king._ I think it’s time you let me in on your little scheme.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed on his father’s as the word “scheme” made it sound like his big plans were nothing more than childish games.

“Careful father, I wouldn’t overestimate your role in my plan to succeed,” Sebastian gritted out between clenched teeth. Seeing his father’s stance become rigid and his eyes impossibly harder, Sebastian visibly relaxed his posture, careful to keep his smile turned inwardly. “I need to get moving, father, I assure you that whatever I am planning, it benefits the _both_ of us.”

“Then let me go with you,” Valentine said, a little pleading in his voice, “I want to see this plan through at your side. Let me be apart of this!”

“No,” Sebastian said sternly, “You have to remain unaware, father. You must stay behind and celebrate my victory as any father would in your place.”

Valentine crossed his arms, “Fine, I’ll do as I’m told for now, Sebastian, but at least have one drink with me, son! Is this not want you wanted? The princess as your future wife? This is something to celebrate!”

“I can’t,” Sebastian snapped, “This plan is bigger than making Clarissa mine; what I have in mind will change everything, father.” At his father’s gaping mouth, he continued, “I need you to distract the townspeople to my absence. Lie to them; tell them I’ve gone off to pray, or something ridiculous like that. I need an alibi to cover my absence as I put the next pieces of my plan into action.”

Valentine, furious that he was going to be left behind once more, couldn’t keep the venom out of his own voice, “I don’t like being kept in the dark, son.” Ever since he and Sebastian had come to Northumbria, he felt the need to stay within his son’s good graces. A small voice in the vast reaches of his mind kept pulling him back to the dark thought, reminding him that if he ever found that Sebastian no longer considered him an asset, he would surely find him at the wrong end of his sword.

“You’ve waited this long father,” Sebastian said, “I only ask that you wait just a little while longer. The end is closer than you think.”

Valentine had to visibly shake himself from his thoughts as he watched his son walk past him and head towards the edge of town. Getting paranoid now would not serve to help Sebastian in whatever he was planning. No, he would bid his time with his son. Do what it is he wanted him to do, _for now_. He couldn’t afford to lose his son’s trust in this foreign land, unable to command his army, not knowing how many were loyal to him over his own son in the few guards that they had brought with them to Northumbria.

He looked towards the thinning crowd, their laughter and cheers settling over his ears. He took in a deep breath and sauntered over to where their cheers were coming from. He resigned himself to his given task, to “celebrate as a father would.” Perhaps tonight he could drown himself in beer and woman, numbing his deep seeded feelings concerning his son. After all, Sebastian had said that the end was closer than he thought.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Clary’s chest heaved as her sobs threatened to overwhelm her. She threw herself into the doors leading into the throne room, needing a place to collect herself, not trusting that her composure would last down the maze of hallways leading to her own chambers.

She brought her shaking hands to the base of her neck, fumbling with the draw string, feeling as though it would strangle her into unconsciousness if she did not get the offending object off in time. Her hysteria was only making her shake harder, sobs bubbling just beneath the surface. She tore at the string until it loosened, the cloak falling around her shoulders and grabbing it between her fists, she hurled it across the room. The precious material landed softly against the steps that preceded the thrones on which the royal family sat atop of.

Clary felt her body move slowly towards the steps, her legs dragging like heavy stones as she willed herself across the room. She ungracefully let herself fall against the third step, burying her head in her hands. She tried to breath in through her nose steadily as she forced her body to quiet down. She needed to regain her composure for what was coming next. She could feel sorry and afraid for herself later, but right now, there was a storm coming- _her parents._

Clary’s ears perked up to the sound of her mother and father approaching the throne room and gulped, resigning herself to her fate. She could hear her mother shouting orders to the guards and household servants, demanding them to give her family some privacy.

Clary cringed inwardly as the door was roughly opened, two sets of feet furiously gaining ground on where she sat on the stone steps. She waited with baited breath as her parents advanced on her. Knowing that she couldn’t escape what was coming, she summoned every once of strength she had left and waited.

“Stand up, Clarissa,” her mother ordered, not too kindly. She stood mere feet from where Clary’s crouched position waited on their steps. She watched as her daughter slowly rose from her sitting position, her eyes not daring to meet her mother’s furious ones.

Clary could feel their eyes on her’s, waiting for her to say something, anything to account or her earlier actions, but her tongue was tide, in guilt or shame, she wasn’t quite sure. Instead, she just crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes to the floor, not even willing to look at their shoes in front of her.

“I’m disappointed in you, Clarissa,” her mother said in a low voice, her voice no longer harsh, but true, “You have acted childishly today and have such behaved selfishly.”

Clary’s eyes brimmed with tears, she knew that she had brought great dishonor on her family and the reputation of her people, but she had done what she felt like she had to.

“Mother, I—“ Clary began, but her mother cut in.

“Enough,” Jocelyn ordered, “You will say nothing. You will publicly apologize for your outburst, to both our community and Prince Sebastian.”

Clary’s eyes flashed to her mother’s, her own emerald, green eyes looking at her’s expectantly. She felt her heart beat a little faster, her stance move a little straight and bit back the urge to scream.

“How can you make me apologize to _him?”_ Clary nearly yelled, but kept her voice tempered, “You don’t know what his is. He doesn’t treat me as a person, he treats me as a prize to be won! He’s a cold, hearted bastard and I won’t marry him!”

Jocelyn gasped as her daughter’s harsh words sounded across her ears, signing herself with the Christian cross, she back away from her daughter, her own eyes brimming with tears of anger and disappointment.

“Enough,” the cool whisper of her father’s voice spoke breaking the silence. He had been silent up until now, trying not to let his own anger and disappointment get the best of him. He realized that yelling and arguing was not going to get them anywhere, but he knew that his daughter needed to know that people like them didn’t always get what they wanted.

Clarissa swiveled her eyes to his and shivered when she saw his cold stare looking back at her. “God did not give us the power or the willingness to rule over these people so that we could do and say as we please, Clarissa. He charged us with the sacred duty of protecting His people from the Devil and his constituents.”

He walked over to his daughter and placed his arms on her shoulders, bending his head down so he could look directly into her eyes, “With this great responsibility we are often asked to make great sacrifices. Your’s is to marry the Prince of Mercia so that our kingdom can survive against the pagan armies that plague the known world. This marriage will symbolize that alliance.”

He looked into his daughter’s eyes and saw that he wasn’t getting through to her. He fixed his eyes on her’s, unflinching, “You have the chance to protect and honor the lives of the people were are sworn to shepherd for our Lord.” He gripped her shoulders, in a tight squeeze to make sure his point was heard, “Do you not understand what you nearly cost us today?”

“And what of _my_ honor and protection?” Clary yelled, standing from the stairs in defiance, “That bastard terrorizes me every chance he gets, don’t you care about that?”

Her mother gasped against her daughter’s cruel tongue, crossing herself, but her father just remained silent, his own anger, bubbling inside of him.

“That is enough,” Luke seethed, trying to keep the anger within him tempered to only his voice. “Your false allegations will not be heard again, is that clear?”

Clary felt a sob slip from her lips; burning tears sliding down her cheeks, “But I—“

“You are dismissed to your room, Clarissa,” her father’s cold voice spoke, stopping her words in her throat, “Prepare yourself for the victory dinner tonight.” Luke turned his back, unable to look into his daughter’s shattered eyes. He hated this whole situation, but as her father, he had to protect her and as the king, he had to protect his people. If he could not accept making his own sacrifices, how could he expect Clary to do the same?

Clary swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, her heart shattering in her chest as she watched her father turn from her. Her father never spoke to her as he had just now. Even as a child, he spoke to her with respect, always making sure that they never walked away from each other angry. This was different. She could feel her legs shaking beneath her and she knew she had to go now.

Swiveling on her heel, Clary headed directly for the door leading to the residential part of the castle, roughly wiping at the tears that were now sliding down her cheeks. She couldn’t wait to feel the safety and security of her chambers, the ability to throw herself against her bed and scream into her pillow until her voice was hoarse almost numbing her with her need to let it all go.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up before her ears picked up to the heavy footsteps directly behind her, alerting her to another presence in the hallway. She didn’t have to turn around to know who it was advancing on her retreating figure.

“Go away, Simon,” she muttered, her eyes still looking straight ahead as she navigated the hallways on autopilot. She felt his cool hand trying to interlace with her’s, but she couldn’t let him sooth her. She couldn’t let him try to make things all better because nothing could make this all better. She retched her arms away from his and barked, “I said _go away!”_

“I just want to help,” Simon whimpered, trying to take Clary’s visibly shaking hand in his, but she just ripped it away from him.

“You can’t! _”_ she screamed and was instantly mad at herself for yelling at her best friend. She couldn’t look at him as she bolted from his side, not stopping as she passed a few guards and other house servants peaking their heads into the hallway curiously. She needed to get out of here, the walls were closing in on her, she needed air. _Shadow_ , she thought, _I need Shadow._

Simon stared after his best friend, his own tears prickling behind his eyes as he watched Clary disappear around the corner. Unsure of what happened next, Simon felt helpless as he imagined the fate of the princess. Perhaps for the first time in his young life, Simon Lewis, best friend and comforter, was afraid for the future. Not just for his best friend, but for the whole kingdom of Northumbria.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

           

Sebastian hurried through the streets of Eoforwic, noting that the time of his next engagement was quickly approaching. He carefully maneuvered from street to street, most of the crowds of people too drunk to notice their new hero and future king walking among them.

Sebastian ignored them as they cheered and sang drunkenly of his victory. He felt neither the need nor the desire to celebrate with these people- these drunkards and whores. He was on a mission and nothing was going to keep him from finishing it. He kept his head up and his eyes forward as he passed building after building.

He had nearly broken free of the chaos and excitement of the townspeople when he felt an arm wrap around his shoulders stopping him dead in his tracks. He felt a white, hot flash of anger rip through him and had to still the urge to break the man’s arm. He murderous thoughts were tempered by knowing that he didn’t want to cause unwanted attention just yet.

Sebastian stepped out of the man’s embrace and faced him, straightening his shoulders and stood to his fullest heights. His eyes narrowed on the man’s face, his eyes glassy and his smile a little crooked, his teeth yellowing and grungy looking. Sebastian’s eyes flicked quickly to the man and the woman behind the drunkard, their eyes too were glazed from too much ale.

“My Lord Sebastian,” the drunkard slurred, “You’re one lucky bastard.” The man smiled as he staggered on his feet, the other man and woman giggling as they righted him upon his feet.

“Mary Beth, give this man a pint, wouldya?” the man spoke eagerly, “He’s going to be king!” The woman, Mary Beth, Sebastian presumed, nodded her head eagerly and was about to fetch him a pint when Sebastian held up his head.

“I have importance business to report to, good people,” he groaned out, this was certainly a waste of his precious time, “I have neither the time or the desire to drink with you.”

“To be so young and eager,” the drunk man bellowed, raising his own pint to Sebastian, bringing it to his lips and downing the brown liquid in a few gulps. Sebastian watched, disgusted, as the man wiped his wet mouth with the back of his hand. “Tell me,” the drunk murmured, coming dangerously close to Sebastian, “Do you think the princess is as tasty as she looks?”

Sebastian responded by putting the blade of his sword through the man’s throat. Instantly, the man dropped to his knees, the pint cup crashing to the ground, breaking into hundreds of pieces. The man startled gurgling, chocking on his own blood, but Sebastian just stared, fascinated. He didn’t hear the screaming from Mary Beth or the whispered prayers from the other man behind him.

“Tell me, good citizen,” he asked condescendingly, “How does the blade of my sword taste? As good as it looks?” Sebastian ripped the blade from the man’s still figure, the light gone from his eyes, his figure slumping to the ground. “She belongs to me now.”

Finally hearing the commotion coming from the man and woman behind him, Sebastian turned his attention to them, silencing them immediately. “You will not speak of this to anyone,” he muttered dangerously, “If you do, your deaths will not be as quick as his.”

Sebastian watched their fleeing figures as they ran from him. Bending down next to the drunkard’s body, he began cleaning his blade with the man’s shirt, eager to clean the filth from his blade. Satisfied when his sword once again show like new, Sebastian held it by the hilt and held it up to examine its sharp feature. He smiled, remembering the way it cleanly sliced through the man’s throat. Nothing was quite like the feel of piercing living flesh. It felt nice; it felt calming. Placing the sword back into his holder at his side, Sebastian stepped over the corpse and continued his path towards the edge of town.

Sebastian picked up his pace as the looming stable housing the royal steeds and mares came swiftly into view. He would need a horse to make it out to his meeting point in time. He wasted no time in shuffling through the doors to find the man in charge, ordering that his horse be made ready. When the man asked if he needed an escort, Sebastian waved him off, dismissing the tenant’s suggestion.

“My business is my own,” Sebastian said sternly, “I must go alone.” He took the reigns from the elderly man and quickly mounted his horse. He clicked his heels against the underbelly of the beast beneath him and steered him towards the main gait.

As he neared the gate, he ordered the guards to let him pass, pleased to hear the resounding yells of the guards shouting to open the gate. He led his horse through the doors and waited until he was a couple yards away from the partition, separating the city from the countryside to pick up the horse’s pace. He kicked the horse into a gallop, smiling as the wind whipped through his hair.

In the distance, he could see the lining of some trees, the entrance to the woods beyond the castle. This is where he was to meet the man he had been corresponding with secretly ever since he arrived in Northumbria. His gaze focused ahead, he listened to the beating thunder as the hooves beneath him, pounding into the dirt road.

The horse broke through the lining of the trees with ease, the smell of the forest hitting Sebastian nose all at once, his nostrils flaring. He pulled back on the reigns, slowing his horse down to a light trot as he took in the scenery around him. It was still daylight out, but the thick trees on either side of the dirt road made his visibility within their depth almost non-existent. He leaned back in his saddle, stilling the movement of his horse and let his senses reach out farther than his eyes could see.

Before his ears picked up on the sound of movement, the hairs on the back of Sebastian’s neck rose, signaling that he was no longer alone in the forest. He carefully turned his horse in the direction of the noise and let his right hand fall to the hilt of his sword at his side.

“If you value your life, show yourself to me, traveller,” Sebastian demanded, his eyes constantly moving from tree to tree, searching for even the slightest amount of movement.

Sebastian’s eyes snapped to a moving figure moving out from behind a tree, his eyes wide, visibly shaking as he raised his hands up in surrender. “Lord S-sebastian, it is I,” he stuttered, “H-hodge Starkweather, your m-most faithful servant.”

“Starkweather,” Sebastian greeted, narrowing his eyes against the aging man before him. True, Starkweather was loyal to a fault, but Sebastian knew that his was loyal out of fear and not respect. Taking his hand from his hilt, Sebastian cross his hands over the reigns and leaned forward in his saddle, flicking his eyes to the rather large, black bird that sat on Starkweather’s shoulders, “I trust Hugo delivered my letters to you? I was very specific in my instructions. ”I trust you have done as I have asked? I was very specific in my letters, was I not?”

Starkweather gulped visibly and Sebastian couldn’t help but smirk, considering that it was better to be feared than loved after all.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Starkweather replied, bowing his head, making Hugo squawk, digging his talons into his shoulder. Starkweather screeched, muttering under his breath something about “the devil’s bird.”

Sebastian ignored Starkweather’s mumblings and waited for him to continue. When Starkweather saw that Sebastian was waiting for him to explain, he went on.

“I have marched your army across the Mercia-Northumbria border, sir,” Starkweather said, wiping his brow with a shaky figure, “We shall be at the city’s gate by tomorrow morning.”

“No,” Sebastian cut in, “We strike tonight.”

“Tonight, my Lord?” Starkweather squeaked, “The men are tired and hungry. They will need a decent night’s rest and food in their stomach’s if they are to attack Northumbria on their own turf!”

“Tonight, Starkweather,” Sebastian seethed, “Or do I need to find another commander of my great army?”

“N-no, sir,” Starkweather stuttered once again, “We will march on Eoforwic tonight.”

“Excellent,” Sebastian said, turning his horse back towards the castle. Seeming as though the conversation was over, Hodge Starkweather turned back towards the way he had come, Hugo still firmly attached to his shoulder.

“Starkweather,” Sebastian said over his shoulder, waiting for the man to stop and look at him, “You will show no mercy to the king or his household, except the princess. I want her alive and brought to me, is that understood?”

“Understood,” Starkweather muttered before turning on his heel and heading into the thick brush of the forest.

Satisfied, Sebastian turned his horse back down the dirt path he had just come from and smirked, “Long live the king.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, everyone! I hope this more than makes up for it! Sound off in the comment section to tell me if you're still interested!

If you asked anyone who knew her, Isabelle Lightwood would be described as a fierce and badass shadowhunter. She was known for her beauty, her calm and collected appearance, as well as being fiercely protective of the ones she considered her family. She could often sense the changes in mood and behavior when it came to the people closest to her and this time wasn’t any different.

Izzy’s spine buzzed with tension, keeping her on edge. No one had spoken a word since they left the Christian village and it was unsettling. She trained her eyes on the back of Jace’s figure in front of her, noticing his shoulders taught with tension, his body moving mechanically forward. It was uncharactistic of Jace to be so quiet, if not only to fill the silence with talk of himself and how good he was in whatever he was doing.

Izzy let her eyes track the movements of her brother walking to Jace’s left. She watched for an unspoken minute as Alec let his eyes take small, seemingly unnoticed glances towards the golden-haired male next to him. Izzy could see the concern in his eyes and in his posture. She knew her brother, both of them. The vibes coming off of them was almost unbearable. She had to do something or she was going to scream and never stop.

Deciding that action, not overanalyzing, was her strongest asset, Izzy quickly picked up her pace and planted herself directly in front of Jace’s path. She held up her hand to his chest, stopping him dead in her tracks. She watched him through steel eyes as he quickly recovered from her sudden appearance in front of him. The fact that he had been caught off guard, _Jace caught off guard,_ furthered her suspicion that something was going on.

“By the gods, Izzy, what---“ Jace stammered, still trying to pull himself from the mind-numbing hypnosis he had been caught up in ever since they left Eoforwic.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Izzy interrupted, her hand smoothing over his chest and resting on his shoulder, “You haven’t said a word since we left that town and I’m worried about you, brother.” Izzy stared into her brother’s golden irises, not willing to back down when she saw his inpenetrable steel mask wash over his face. She felt Alec step up behind her, a silent ally behind her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Isabelle,” Jace said, his voice steady, but Izzy saw that his eyes held much deeper thoughts than what he was revealing.

“Izzy’s right, Jace,” Alec stated, “What happened back there?”

Jace rolled his eyes and placed his hand on Izzy’s shoulder, “Nothing happened.” He looked into her eyes and into Alec’s and knew that they wouldn’t be satisfied until he came clean.

“Fine,” Jace exhaled, “Let’s just say that ever since we left the town, my mind has been elsewhere, okay?” Jace ran his hand through hair, searching for a way to explain his thoughts and not sound crazy at the same time. “It’s that girl, you know the one with the fiery, red hair and the wicked aim,” when neither Alec nor Izzy said a word he continued, “She in my head and I can’t get her out of my head.”

“By the gods!” Izzy squeaked, her eyes sparkling, a huge grin growing from ear to ear. She drilled a finger in the center of Jace’s chest and squealed, “You have a crush!”

“I do not!” Jace bellowed, playfully knocking Izzy’s slender finger from his chest, “I don’t do crushes, Isabelle, they are beneath me.” Jace didn’t miss the snort coming from the older, male Lightwood and he swung his steel gaze to Alec.

“I don’t,” he said between his teeth and he watched, un-amused, as Alec fought the forming grin on his face. Jace loved that grin, he seldom saw it, but he loved it more when it wasn’t at his expense.

Jace moaned as he realized that he façade was not working on the two people who knew him the best. He squared his shoulders against the impenetrable Lightwood wall preventing him from continuing his journey back to the camp and exhaled as he mustered up the courage to continue.

“That girl, when I saw her standing before me, her eyes locking with mine, it’s like I couldn’t move- _couldn’t breathe,”_ Jace spoke, lightly, losing himself again to the memory of the encounter, he quickly orienated himself to the present and continued.

“Just because I found a girl, _momentarily_ attractive, doesn’t mean I have a crush!” He crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow, hoping that this would show his adoptive siblings that this whole idea was ridiculous.

Knowing that this was probably the most they were going to get from Jace, Alec took pity on him and decided to give him an out. He cracked a smile and nodded his head in agreement.

“Of course not,” Alec mused, “That would require you to actually admit you had feelings.”

“Precisely,” Jace grinned, his posture relaxing under his friends kind escape clause, “I’m a cold, hearted bastard!”

Izzy rolled her eyes at her brothers, “I hate you both for ruining my fun.”

Jace wrapped an arm around Izzy’s shoulders and kissed her on the temple, “I love you, Iz, but I also love myself too much to share me with anyone else.” They both chuckled, Izzy embracing him, wrapping her thin, strong arms around his waist.

“Now that my love life has been thoroughly investigated, how about we talk about the raid?” Jace offered, lightly, turning the conversation from casual to business.

“Good idea,” Alec agreed, “I’ve been doing some thinking,” Alec stated, turning back into his typical, analytical self. “Having the influx of Saxon’s in the town may not be such a bad thing.”

Ducking her head to look at her brother a quizzical look on her face, Izzy asked, “Our numbers may be many, but even the gods know that their presence outweigh ours.”

Alec nodded his head in understanding, his eyes gazing into the distance, not at a single object in front of him, but in some far away place. His pace slowed as he swung his hands behind his back, a sure sign to Izzy that her brother was in deep thought.

Years of fieldwork with Alec, allowed Izzy and Jace to gracefully slow their own strides to match Alec’s as he was in deep thought. By now it was mechanical for them to subconsciously observe each other’s pace and gates to match each other’s.

“You’re not wrong, Izzy,” Alec offered, “However, the vast majority of the people were commoners- merchants, craftsmen, and entertainers, not soldiers of war.”

“I agree with Alec,” Jace added, “It seems that only a small fraction of their numbers are capable of fighting, the others will just be collateral. Besides, bringing foreign armies into an unsuspecting kingdom is quite dangerous, and I would like to think dastardly brilliant.” Jace chuckled at that last bit, but the Lightwood siblings just rolled their eyes.

“This is a time of peace and union,” Jace mentioned, “Not war.”

Izzy accepted this form of thought and raised her eyebrows, “Good, all we need is to walk into a war that is not our own. Our objective is to get in, take what we want and get out.”

“Precisely,” Jace said, enthusiastically, finally making his move to once again head towards the trees, “Although, getting through that wall is going to be a tremendous task.”

“One that is going to require a lot of thought and analysis,” Alec reminded Jace, easing into a steady pace beside him, “Not just brute strength.”

Jace made an overly dramatically sound, “Now who is ruining all the fun!”

Alec’s mouth tugged upwards as a smile snuck across his face, “No worries Jace, I’ll do all the thinking for you.”

“Thank the gods!” Jace laughed, “We all know I can get a little… _distracted.”_

“More like impatient, irritable, reckless…” Izzy mused, in a mocking serious tone.

“Okay, Iz, I get it!” Jace teased, messing up her hair on top of her head with his hand.

“Jace!” Izzy yelled, swatting at his hand, laughing, “I’m going to kill you!”

“You’ll have to catch me first,” Jace smirked and took off at a sprint towards the lining of the trees in the distance.

“Done,” Izzy barely whispered and took off, hot on Jace’s heels, her long, black her creating a trail behind her.

Alec watched as Jace and Izzy’s figures disappeared behind the lining of the trees, masking the Viking settlement just behind the forest’s edge.

“Children,” Alec muttered, “I’m surrounded by children.” With one last look behind him, toward the city, Alec turned back towards the trees and picked up his pace in a light jog, hoping to catch up to Izzy and Jace before anyone got seriously hurt. After all, someone had to be the adult.

           

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

As soon as Clary’s figure disappeared from the room, the door slamming shut behind her, Queen Jocelyn fell against the stairs, her shoulders shaking with both rage and a deep sadness for her daughter.

King and Queen sat in silence for what seemed to be an un-measurable amount of time before the queen’s sobs became short, quiet pants for air and the king’s temperament had cooled to barely simmering.

Jocelyn brought her hands away from her face, her eyes trained on the ring adorning her left finger. She subconsciously twisted the smooth metal around her digit, her mind forcing the memories of her own union with her husband before her eyes. Usually these memories were remembered with love and joy, but in these circumstances, it only compounded her misery in her daughter’s upcoming nuptials.

Having mothered a young girl, Jocelyn always found herself dreaming of the day she would give her daughter away in marriage. She often found herself wondering what kind of a young man would steal her daughter’s heart. Would he be as spirited and adventurous as her young daughter or would he keep her grounded in her duties? But most of all, she found herself wishing that above all else, Clary would find her someone who looked at her the way she found Luke staring at her from time to time. Even with the weight of the world on his shoulders, Luke still found the little moments to remind her just how much he admired and loved her. She was never so much in love with him.

Jocelyn was pulled from her thoughts when she felt her husband lower himself beside her on the steps, placing a hand on her shoulder. She lifted her hand to his and gently stroked the top of his strong hands with her thumb.

“Are we doing the right thing, Luke?” she asked, using the name that only she called him. She brought her eyes to look into his and saw his own sorrow burdening his stare. She squeezed his hand, urging him to say something.

Luke pulled his hand from his wife’s and sighed, “I have to believe that I am doing the right thing, Joss,” he answered, but she could hear the strain in his voice. “I have to believe it if not only for the fact that I must live with the decision. I have to know that Clary will be safe should I fall in the wake of The Great Viking War.”

Jocelyn let her eyes fall to the floor, a single tear spilling over and onto her cheek, “I just wish she had more time.”

Confused, Luke let his hand rest on the small of his wife’s back, “More time for what, Joss?”

“To be a kid,” Joss muttered, the tears flowing freely, but quietly now, “I thought she would have more time to be a kid.”

Luke nodded his understanding, gently stroking his wife’s back as she silently mourned the loss of her daughter’s youth and innocence all too soon.

Jocelyn cleared her throat, wiped her eyes free of the tears and turned to Luke, taking his hands into her own.

“I was so lucky the day that I was asked to be your wife, Luke. You’ve shown me nothing but respect and love since our first union. I wanted that same thing for our daughter. I cannot help but mourn that loss.”

Luke looked to his wife’s delicate, yet strong hands in his masculine ones. He brought them each to his lips and placed a delicate kiss on top of them both.

“I have loved you since the very beginning, Jocelyn, you have not only given me a beautiful life, but also a beautiful daughter who I love and adore just as much as I do you. I would do anything for either one of you.” Knowing what he had to say next, he slowly took a deep breath and continued, “However, we live in desperate times, Joss, a time in which we are forced to make decisions and sacrifices if we are to survive this great threat.”

Jocelyn stared at a distance, somewhere over her husbands shoulder, “I just wish it wasn’t at the expense of our young daughter. There is so much she hasn’t seen or experienced in her young life.”

“She is still young, Joss,” Luke said, cupping her cheek softly, raising her face slightly so she could see his encouraging smile, “Just because she is getting married, doesn’t mean she will be imprisoned.”

Jocelyn couldn’t help the cold laugh that escaped her lips, “Luke, you have no idea what a woman goes through when she is made to marry a complete stranger. The horrors that keep her up at night wondering if she is going to marry Prince Charming or a monster.” She looked into her husband’s eyes, “I am afraid that we may have just subjected our daughter to the ladder by forcing her to marry a Morgenstern male.”

Luke’s shoulders slumped, but his eyes remained hopeful, “Just because Sebastian is a Morgenstern, doesn’t mean he is anything like his father, Joss.”

Jocelyn cringed at the mention of Valentine.

“It doesn’t matter. Valentine corrupts everything around him, Lucian,” she said, using her husband’s full, Christian name to enforce the importance of what she was saying. “I know first hand what its like to be at the center of a Morgenstern’s obsession. I do not wish our daughter to live in the same fear.”

Luke’s eyes grew cold, “Has Valentine over stepped his boundaries?”

Jocelyn set her jaw, “I can handle Valentine, but what if Clarissa can’t handle Sebastian. If he is anything like his father, Clary is going to need our help.”

Luke thought about this and then for the first time in what seemed like forever, a genuine smile came across his face. “If Clary is anything like _you_ , my love, Sebastian isn’t going to know what hit him.”

Jocelyn chuckled, “She’s going to be fine, isn’t she?”

Luke thought about his next words, “I have a feeling that Clary is going to show us all what a courageous and strong young woman we have raised her to be. For is it not written in Proverbs the _she is clothed in strength and dignity and…_

_“And she laughs without fear of the future,”_ Jocelyn finished for her husband.   
God is good.”

“God is good,” Luke repeated.

Luke got up from the steps and helped Jocelyn to her feet, “For now,” he added, “We will order that for the first year of the marriage, Clarissa and Sebastian must stay with us here, in Clarissa’s home, surrounded by people who she trusts and loves.”

“Do you think that will honestly work, Luke,” Jocelyn chuckled without humor, “The Morgenstern men rarely take orders from anyone, especially other men.”

“They will have to if the Prince of Mercia wishes to marry our daughter,” Luke said through clenched teeth.

Jocelyn nodded her head in agreement, “Then it’s settled, Clary will know that she is not alone in this. With God and her loving parents by her side, who can surely have victory over her?”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her mind numb from the fight with her parents, her heart aching with the guilt from taking it out on Simon and her soul beaten at the prospect of marrying Sebastian, Clary let her feet mechanically take her to a place where she could get away.

Clary brought her arms across her chest, her hands hugging her elbows as she shielded herself from the cool breeze coming through the outdoor stable. Walking through the stables like a ghost, hoping to silently move through the shelter without having to speak with anyone, she quickly made her way through the rows, searching for the only thing that could lessen all the pain.

Rounding the finally corner leading her to Shadow’s stall, Clary picked up her pace as she saw her best friend waiting for her to draw closer. Shadow blew air swiftly through his nose as she approached a steady build up of energy building around him as he watched her draw near. It was clear that Shadow had missed her and Clary’s heart leapt with pure joy and love for the male steed.

Feeling a small tug at the corners of her lips, Clary reached out her slightly shaking hand to stroke Shadow’s long snout, whispering her greetings to the magnificent creature.

Bringing her hand away from his snout momentarily, Clary opened the gate, allowing herself to walk into the stable and wrap her arms around the massive girth of Shadows neck. She draped herself against the lean muscles of his upper neck and torso and, closing her eyes, felt the tears slide down her face.

Shadow allowed his head to gently rest on her shoulder, sensing the sadness from his master. It is said that animals can sense the emotions that run through humans and it was no secret that Shadow was perfectly in tune with his human to know her moods very well.

At the touch of Shadow’s head on her’s, Clary felt her heart momentarily ease under the pressure that had been slowly crushing it ever since the fateful loss at the tournament. She gave one last, strong embrace around Shadow’s neck and then slowly extracted herself from beneath his tall, powerful frame.

Using the back of her hands, she quickly wiped away the tears from her eyes and smiled into the eyes that she somehow knew could understand her perfectly. She gently rubbed the bridge of his nose once more, giggling when Shadow neighed silently showing his excitement once more in seeing her.

“I need to feel the wind in my hair, this world at my back. Do you think you can help me with this, my friend?” Clary asked, stepping back, she laughed, actually laughed when Shadow through his head up and down, as if he knew exactly what she was saying. “Perfect, let ride.”

Having placed the saddle upon Shadow’s strong back and the reigns securely fastened in his mouth, Clary secretly and carefully led Shadow through the stable, hoping not to be disturbed by any of the workers with inquiries as to way the newly engaged princess was going for a ride without her new fiancé.

Clary could taste the fresh air as they approached the final turn before appearing outside the stable, feeling the excitement of feeling the fresh wind on her her face she quickly picked up her pace. However, she stopped immediately in her tracks, feeling all the blood rush from her face as she heard the unsettling, all too familiar voice of Sebastian.

“I trust you can keep a secret, sir,” Sebastian sneered, his voice low and threatening, “I’d hate to have to revisit this lovely, little stack of wood should I find out that you have divulged my comings and goings.”

Unable to move in either direction, fearing that Sebastian would hear the slightly boot scuff or even her lightest breathing, Clary positioned herself and Shadow against the wall, willing to wait until Sebastian went away.

Clary, always the one to let her curiosity get the best of her, snuck a peak around the corner. Sebastian’s back was to her, but she could clearly see the stable keeper, his eyes wide in fear, his posture folding in on hisself, no doubt from the piercing black eyes that were tearing into him.

“No, your majesty,” he replied, “I will tell no one of your travels.”

“Good,” Sebatian said clearly pleased, “I do not enjoy unneeded messes,” he said allowing his right hand to rest against the hilt of his sword, a clear indication of what he meant by “messes.”

Clary gasped and immediately swiveled around the wall, hoping that Sebastian hadn’t heard the gasp. She waited for a moment and noting the silence, decided to take another peak around the corner.

To her surprise, both Sebastian and the stable worker were no where to be seen. Her breathing slowly forming a normal pattern, her heart beating a normal rhythm once more, Clary sighed and again took up the reigns and led Shadow towards the stable doors.

At the edge of the stable, Clary placed her boot into the stirrup and bounced on her other foot to gather enough strength to hoist her into the saddle. However, half way up she felt two iron bands wrap around her waist, stilling her in midair. She knew those hands, not only by the immense power they radiated in their touch, but by the sickening feeling engulfing her stomach whenever she was subjected to their touch.

“Clarissa,” the cool, crisp greeting sounded from Sebastian’s lips and Clary could hear the sly smile forming on his lips, “Running away already, are we?”

“Put me down,” Clary seethed between clenched teeth, she may have been frightened of his presence moments ago, but now that they were going to be face-to-face, she felt the fire within burn with a savage force. She would not let herself to reduced to a pile of whimpers and obedience to this monster, not to _anyone._

Sebastian chuckled as he slowly lowered the feisty, red head back to the ground. He didn’t remove the grip from her hips as she settled back on the ground, he enjoyed the possessive message it should be sending her way in magnitude. He left the cocky smirk in place and spoke like a condescending parent to their child.

“Now Clarissa, is that any way to speak to your husband?” he asked, the light in his eyes dancing. He moved one of his hands to her hair, stroking his slender fingers through her fiery red curls, the feel of their smoothness sending warm pleasures through his being. She was powerless to stop him as her petite body was trapped between his and the steed behind her. He watched amusingly as her bright, green eyes, flashed with resentment.

“We aren’t married, yet,” Clary seethed, trying to exude her disgust and loathing of him through her stare. But to her disappointment, it seemed that this show of hostility only turned him on more. He was thoroughly enjoying himself, the bastard.

Sebastian didn’t respond verbally, but he let his eyes rest on his hands as they slowly and sensually rubbed up and down her small arms, enjoying the goosebumps they left in their wake. She was so small in stature compared to his looming height and build, but he knew that her fiery temper more than made up for that. He couldn’t wait to have her in his bed, he would make her kneel to his will.

Clary couldn’t look at him as he lazily groped her, she thought about yelling for help, but her scream was silenced as she reminded herself that she had suffered enough embarrassment today because of him. She closed her mouth and stilled herself against his ministrations, waiting for him to finish.

Feeling his growing erection in his pants, and yet having the presence of mind to know that now was certainly not the time, Sebatian knew he had to cut this meeting short. He let his hands rest on her shoulders and bent his head down so his eyes were directly in front of her’s.

“Clarissa, you were just engaged to the most eligible bachelor in the world, should you not be preparing yourself for our enagagement feast?“ He smiled at her as he watched her roll her eyes.

Clary fixed her stare on his, unwilling to show any signs of weakness, “Not that it’s _any_ of your business, but I needed to get some air.” She turned her back on Sebastian, shaking off his hands across her shoulders and busied herself by fussing with the harness on Shadow’s back. She prayed that Sebastian would take the hint that the conversation was over and walk away, but she knew that this prayer would go unanswered.

Tired of this young woman continuously disrespecting him, Sebastian took an impossible step forward, crushing Clary between his frame and that of the horse. Sebastian ignored the threatening rush of air coming from the stead and lowered his mouth until it was just outside the tip of Clary’s ear.

“You are my business, Clarissa,” he spoke with a deadly purr in his tongue, one that made her shiver to her very core. She couldn’t lie, she felt fear swell in her stomach and her life quickly flashed before her eyes. One of a scared wife, constantly doing what she was told in order to keep her husband happy. She cringed inwardly, fighting back to the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

Clary was quickly brought out of her thoughts when she felt the cool, crisp touch of his lips against her cheek. She felt her cheeks blush hard as he pressed his growing erection into her plush, round globes. She wanted to thrash out at him, kick, scream, anything, but the enormity of what was to become her fate, was keeping her glued to this spot.

Satisfied that he had finally gotten the last word, Sebastian took a couple of steps back and watched as Clary mounted her horse, not saying one word. He watched as she straightened her shoulders and knew that his quick victory was going to be short lived, but this is what he loved most about her- her fight.

Clary turned her shoulders, squaring up to Sebastian, he unique view of looking down on him, giving her the courage she needed to speak with courage and strength.

“I may not have the choice in marrying you, Sebastian,” she said coolly, a pure light shining from her emerald eyes, “And you may take this body for your own, but you will never take my spirit. That is mine to share with whoever I chose, not your’s to take.”

With that last phrase, Clary kicked the underbelly of the powerful beast beneath her, sending Shadow into a burst of speed, leaving Sebastian in their literal trail of dust.

Sebastian could only smirk. He was entertained by a dramatic exit as the next person, but still, he would ready himself for the biggest challenge to come- breaking his little red head to his will.

Sebastian watched from the door as Clary’s flowing, red hair disappeared behind other wooden shelters heading towards the city’s gates. Once he could not seeing her fleeing form, he swiveled on his heel, eager to get back to the castle in preparation for perhaps the best night of his life.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I’m sorry for the erratic and chaotic update schedule. With my crazy nurse schedule, I can’t guarantee updates on specific, consistent dates. Again, so sorry! But just know, that when I have the opportunity and the proper mindset, I am thoroughly dedicated to bringing you new and fun content. This next chapter is roughly a little of 1,000 more words than the last couple of chapters, so I hope that suffices as an extra gift of apology from me! I hope y’all are enjoying the story thus far. A couple of you mentioned that you enjoy the slow build and I appreciate that. It’s important to me that the story is fluid (I am very detail orientated when it comes to story telling.) On the opposite note, I understand that something readers lose interest when a story is taking to long to “lift off,” so believe me when I say I am trying to give you the excitement you have been waiting for (ie- Clace, Malec, Sizzy.) It’s coming, but please, please, please, be patient! I know, easy for me to say being the author! Again, thank you all for your continued support and engagement with the story. Please don’t stop with the comments. Give me your positive feedback, constructive criticism and most definitely your thoughts on the story line and where you think the story is going! Just as a head up, I do not have a beta, so all grammar and spelling errors are my own. I will try to remain professional and vigilante in finding all the errors before I post, but alas, I am human and can only re-read my own words so many times before all the words run together. Again thanks for everything. You guys are really a light in my life right now! As always, happy reading! Love, sinner316 ☺

_Later that evening…_

            A Viking warrior’s greatest victory is not over his fellow man, but in the very act of death on the battlefield. For in the death of his mortal body, new life, that of his immortal self is to be preserved in Valhalla, the place of the gods. Once slain, Valkyries ride amongst the dead, claiming the souls of those worthy enough to enter Valhalla. Here they will feast and drink with Odin, Freya, Loki and the other gods, sharing stories of their plunder while on Earth, but when the feasting and the drinking is over, they will once again go to battle only to be slain once again in the glorious afterlife. And so this cycle will continue: eating, drinking and fighting. All until Ragnarok comes to slay them all one final time.

           

            As the cool winds came from the water’s edge, the night held an air of cool crispness. The moon hovered over the land, its light illuminating what lied beneath it. Under the cover of the trees, within the darkest shadows, the crunching of fallen leaves could be heard under the heavy boot falls of a vast army. An electrical current buzzed through the forest, the coming battle on the minds of those seeking glory and a seat at the coveted table.

            His hair, bright as the sun’s rays, glistening in the moonlight, Jace led his army through the shadows of the trees. He could feel the electricity in the air filling his veins, like a burning fire threatening to consume him if he could not tame it with his sword.

            Coming to the edge of the forest, Jace raised his fist to signal to his warrior to stop walking. Within seconds, the only sound that could be heard was the slight breeze rustling the trees. Jace looked out into the clearing, the moon’s light perfectly cascaded the town of Eoforwic in a white glow, giving Jace a perfect view of the grounds.

            Not hearing, but feeling the static around him change, Jace sensed the familiar presence of Alec and Izzy taking their designated places on either side of him. Years of fighting in battle with one another allowed them to communicate, not verbally, but almost telepathically. This allowed them to effectively and efficiently lead their people to victory.

            Having decided that their waiting was over, Jace turned his head towards Alec and low, commanding tone.

            “Alec, you and I will lead a small party into the sewers and breech the wall from the outside in,” he turned to Izzy and addressed her in the same way, “Izzy, I need you to stay with the others and wait for our signal to attack.”

            “What the signal,” Izzy asked, not taking her eyes off the city in the distance. She supposed that the night’s eerily glow and chill lent a little bit of a flare for what she assumed would be the ruins of yet another Christian town. Not having heard Jace’s answer, she turned to him, eyebrow cocked, “Well, what will it be.”

            Jace felt a smirk forming at the corners of his mouth, “I’m sure we will think of something, Isabelle.”

            Izzy looked from Jace to Alec, Alec shrugging his shoulders as if to ask why she would think things would go any different under Jace’s leadership.

            “Fine,” Izzy muttered, “Just don’t get killed before I get to slit some throats, okay?”

            “Always the charmer,” Jace smiled, turning away to address the others. Alec followed him with Izzy bringing up the rear.

            “Brothers and sisters,” Jace said, looking into the eyes of the men and women he had fought side-by-side with for so long, “The time has come to take the city of Eoforwic. Our attack will come in two waves. The first being that of a smaller party which will be responsible for taking the front gate and allowing the rest of our numbers to effortlessly fill into the city.”

            There was a general grumbling sound among the soldiers, some agreeing with the plan while others preferred to take the gate by force. However, they knew that whatever their leader decided, they would obey, until death.

            Alec held up his hand to silence the crowd, “The smaller team, under the leadership of Jace and myself, will seek entry into the town through the sewers tunneling under the wall and into the city. The rest of you will wait here with Izzy and wait for the signal to attack.”

            “I will go with you,” Ivar said, stepping forward away from the crowd, “I yearn to feel the blood of the Christians against my axe.” A general clanking of swords, axes and other metal being pounded on the wooded boards of the Viking shields could be heard all around them. It served to get their blood pumping, the beating of the steel on wood synchronizing with the beat of their hearts. It was intoxicating.

            Jace had to shake his head and focus, they could not divulge their whereabouts so close to the city now. They had come from so far and were too close to mess things up now.

            “Thank you, Ivar,” Jace said, again silencing the crowd with a single hand, “I need five more volunteers.”

            One by one, each Viking stepped out from the cluster and into a line, facing Jace and Alec, their shields at their chest and their weapons in hands, a sign that they were ready for battle.

            “Excellent,” Jace said, “We better get moving.”

 

~*~*~*~*

 

            The dining hall was brimming with laughter as cheers were shouted to the newly engaged royals, a long awaited union between two powerful nations. Drunken men and women made toasts in their honor and for their country, chugging down the stale, dark liquid in their tankards.

            The King and Queen were kept busy as nobles from the far reaches of the kingdom walked up to the table to personally congratulate them in their daughter’s pending marriage and what that would bring to the people of Eoforwic. Graciously they accepted their congratulations and wished them well.

            Valentine was enjoying himself, more so with each pint of ale he was given, emptying each tankard every time a new toast was made. He was quickly becoming drunk, but nothing seemed to slow him down. He was quickly becoming a town favorite as he mingled with the commoners and drank with them. A king among the people, he thought, who would have guessed.

            As was expected of them, the royal family raised their chalices in thanks to the people and drank small sips of their wine. However, none of them were so taken with the celebration as the Prince of Mercia.

            Sebastian played the part of the victor very well as he graciously accepted each and every cheer and toast to his good fortune. He kept his left hand firmly around his bride-to-be’s neck, his chalice hung high in the air in his right.

            Clary just stared straight ahead, pinpointing a single piece wooden plank on the wall and glued her eyes to it. She was afraid that if she looked out into the crowd and saw the cheering faces, the grandiose toasting in her name, she would surely lose her mind. These people had no idea what kind of a life she was going to lead as this monster’s wife, his slave, his to do whatever he wanted with. Just the thought of her wedding night alone made her want to flee at this very moment. No, she couldn’t do it, she couldn’t embarrass herself or her family once more. So she sat stock still, not once accepting any praise or worship for her engagement.

            Noticing her silence, and in his slight drunkenness, Sebastian lead his head to the side, pulling Clary’s closer to his mouth, he said, “Clarissa, you haven’t said a signal word since dinner started, I will not be made to look like a fool,” Sebastian placed a small kiss against the side of her head and in a low and sinister tone, he said, “Say something.”

            Clary, never having moved her eyes from that same wood plank, immediately stood up, her chair sliding inches behind her making a harsh, screeching noise. The crowd noticing that a royal was no at their feet, immediately quieted down and their eyes focused on the princess.

            Clary swallowed the small lump forming in her throat; she absolutely hated speaking in front of a large crowd. Even in her schooling, she hated reading allowed even when it was only Simon and Amatis listening to her. Clearing her throat, she opened her mouth the address the people.

            “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for your kind words and warm sentiments towards my nuptials. It is with deep sadness that I must part ways with you at this moment. I am not feeling well and must retire to my chambers if I am to be presentable for the wedding tomorrow.”

            A man in the crowd raised his tankard in the hair, making a toast to the princess and the crowd cheered her. Clary bowed her head in appreciation and turned to leave the table, but she felt an iron band clasp around her wrist still her movement. Ice formed in her veins as she turned to Sebastian, her icy stare matching his deep onyx eyes.

            Leaning down, she placed the same chaste kiss he had placed on her head earlier, but not before she said, “Those are the last kind words I will ever speak regarding our union.” She gave a small yank of her wrist, freeing it from Sebastian’s hold. She could tell by his tightened jaw that she was in deep trouble, but at this precise moment, she couldn’t care less.

            Clary walked along the table, stopping to say goodnight to her mother and father before she walked out of the dining room, waving a last goodbye to the people of Eoforwic.

            Sebastian watched as Clary once again ran away from him. His eyes never leaving her figure as she disappeared behind the door. He was sick of her blatant disrespect of her duties as his betrothed. It was time that he, once and for all, showed her who was in charge and what a wife’s place was.

            Sebastian stood up from his chair and exited through the same door as Clary had, not stopping to address the King and Queen, nor the other people in the dining hall.

            Valentine, drunk from the toasts and cheers of the night, raised his chalice in the air and sang, “To young love!” The crowd cheered with this and they all drank from their respective cups, cheering as they slammed them back on the table.

            Queen Jocelyn did not raise her glass, instead, her eyes had not moved from the door in which both Clary and Sebastian had disappeared through. She whispered to her husband that she was going to check on Clary and made a beeline from the door.

            Unbeknownst to the King, who was busy talking with many of his nobles, Valentine stole away moments later, seeking the beautiful and elusive Queen.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

            Starkweather stood, with his horse at his side, his gaze casting out from behind the forest line out to the glowing city of Eoforwic. Even from where he stood, there was a rumble among the breeze. A noise carried over from the village filled with laughter and shouting as the inhabitants celebrated the union of two powerful countries.

            Starkweather felt an aching low within his stomach following the thought of the heinous act he would commit under the command of Prince Sebastian. To storm into the fortressed town heavily armed and with no formal declaration of war was not only a coward’s move, but also, one without honor.

            Starkweather thought about this. To think that the single most important task he was given was to commit a most dishonorable act. Could he live this way for the rest of his life?

However, a small voice in his head reminded him of Prince Sebastian’s earlier threat of finding another commander capable of preforming the tasks that were given to him. Starkweather knew that his dismissal would not end with him simply walking away. No, he would be put through the most evil of punishments at the hand of the prince, never to be seen or heard from again.

The alternative, acting as a much needed motivator, Starkweather straightened up and turned to his horse, making sure that the saddle was securely fastened before he hoisted himself on top of the strong horse, ready to command his army at the whim of their soon-to-be-king.           

            As Starkweather grabbed the reigns, he heard the distinct sound of hooves pounding on the ground coming towards him. He braced himself for the newcomer, his right hand grasping the hilt of his sword.

            When the interloper came into sight, Starkweather relaxed his posture, but kept his eyes on the newcomer. It was one of his Captains, a look of fear on his face.

            “Captain,” Starkweather spoke, “I thought you were to be with the men, gathering them so that we might storm the city?” He didn’t hide the air of annoyance from his subordinate, but it didn’t seem to phase the captain.

            “Sir, I have just gotten word from our scouts,” the Captain’s face drained of color and his voice shook, “Vikings, General, the Vikings are here.”

            Starkweather could feel his own blood drain from his face. His heart pounding in his chest, his hands already trembling with fear.

            “Vikings? But…How?” he stumbled, unable to form a coherent sentence as his mind was too overwhelmed to function.

            “I don’t know sure,” the captain spoke, “But a small group of them are moving towards the city, General.”

            Starkweather turned his gaze toward the city, a feeling in his chest tightening around him. They had to protect their brothers and sisters in Christ, shouldn’t they? Was this not the greatest calling to settle their differences and fight the Devil?

            His mind made up, Starkweather turned to the captain, “Gather the men, we are leaving now. We fight the pagans tonight for it is a most holy of duties to protect those who cannot protect themselves against the forces of evil.”

            The captain saluted Starkweather and rode back into the trees towards the men. Starkweather breathed in a deep breath of air, the feeling in his stomach relaxing. If he died this night, at least he would die a hero, protecting the unsuspecting town of Eoforwic and not committing acts of war, killing hundreds of innocent people. Yes, he felt much better about what he was to do this night. Getting the encouragement from his moral compass, Starkweather turned his horse around and made his way back to his troops.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

            Using the cover of night, Jace led the small group of warrior towards the fortressed city, his eyes peeled for any danger. The Vikings moved with stealth, careful not to alert any of the remaining guards who weren’t passed out drunk of their position. When they came upon the wall, Jace moved quickly around the city, his eyes searching for the weakened portion of the old and strong structure. Jace used his hand as a guide, searching for the spot he knew would help them enter the city unnoticed. The roughness of the exterior brushed against his hand and Jace couldn’t not help but to feel the history behind this powerful wall, the years of war it had endured, all the while providing protection for all those behind it’s stronghold. It was almost a shame to find its weakness. _Almost._

Jace smiled to himself, no matter the obstacle, physical or mental, he always came out the winner. He stopped in his tracks, feeling the stone beneath his hand crumble slightly, signaling to him that he was getting close. Soon, he heard the small, but steady stream from below and knew that he had found his spot.

            Jace held up his hand in a fist, silently telling the others to stop. He bent down on his hunches and peered through the iron bars. He reached out with his hands and grabbed onto the iron bars, years of aging having turned their iron structure to rust. Gently pulling against the bars, Jace was pleased to feel the movement of the bars. He smiled, “This is it.”

            Silently, the men got to work on pulling the iron bars from their centuries old resting place, eager to infiltrate the city of Eoforwic. Once all of the bars were rooted from their spots, one by one, the fully-grown Viking warriors slipped between the opening and into the sewer below.

            Jace was the last to pass through the opening, making sure that all of his men made it through without alerting the Christians to their presence. Once they were all safe inside, Jace slipped through and with a harsh splash of his boots hitting the wet ground, he stood.

            “A shit hole,” Ivar muttered, not five feet from where Jace stood, “Your brilliant idea was to wade through literal shit?” Ivar couldn’t hide his annoyed tone or the look of disgust on his face.

            “I would suspect that you would have felt at home down here, Ivar, after the shithole of a dwelling you call a house back home,” Jace said, a smile once again forming on his face.

            Ivar just gruffed, but remained silent.

            Jace turned from Ivar, searching in the dimness for his second-in-command. When he spotted Alec, he made his way across the sewer to stand next to his oldest friend.

            “Now what?” Alec asked, seeing Jace walking up to him, his bow and arrow already in hand.

            “I had the chance to watch the guards as they moved through the city,” Jace answered, “To the best of my ability, I tried to clock their passing time in order to give us a good estimate on how long we had to get everyone out of here before we were spotted.”

            “Would it not be easier to just kill the guards when they come around,” one of the men said from behind.

            “No,” Jace replied, “If we upset the timing in any way, it could become suspicious and alert the other guards to our presence prematurely. We must allow them to stick with their usual schedule until we are ready to make our presence known.”

            And so the Vikings stood their ground, in the sewer, watching as the guards patrolled the grounds, counting the minutes that ticked by in between passing. When they all agreed on the timing, they set to work on the last set of iron bars in front of them, the only obstacle in between them and the city. After the iron bars were released from their holding places, the Viking entered the city of Eoforwic, a renewed sense of victory coursing through their veins as the first phase of their plan was successful.

            Jace had been the first of the pack out of the sewer, eager to get a look out into the darkness. His mind was buzzing with all of the possible outcomes of tonight. He had to choose the right course of action if he wanted this raid to be successful. Never before had a Viking taken on such a huge task in plundering a town the size of Eoforwic, this night would either make or break his reputation as a fearless leader and perhaps, put him in favor with the gods.

            “We need a distraction,” Jace muttered, knowing Alec was right beside him without looking, “So the guards at the gate don’t see us coming.”

            “What do you propose,” Alec asked, keeping his head and eyes on a swivel.

            Jace looked around and spotted something in the distance, a smile forming on his lips. Alec knew that smile and moaned internally; he always grew anxious whenever Jace formed a plan on the fly, not having time to properly analyze the situation and go over every outcome.

            “I have an idea,” Jace muttered, but Alec could hear the smile in his voice.

            “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Alec whispered harshly.

            Rolling his eyes, Jace turned towards his warriors and signaled them to come in close so that he only had to whisper.

            “You are all to follow Alec to the gate, but wait until you see my signal before you attack,” he said, “Because we don’t know how many guards are up there, it is in our best interest for me to cause a distraction so that the majority of the guards will be elsewhere when you take the gate.”

            “Do I really want to know what kind of distraction you’re thinking of?” Alec asked, but deciding that he really didn’t want to know.

            “Let’s just say that I’m going to light a fire under their Saxon asses,” Jace mused. And with that, Jace turned on his heel and headed in the opposite direction as the gate, disappearing into the night.

 

 ~*~*~*~*~*

 

            Izzy paced, her stomach tightening with anticipation. Every now and then her eyes flickered to the moonlit city, searching for the signal that Jace and Alec promised. Each minute that passed, she felt herself becoming less and less patient. She felt the same energy from her comrades. They were ready for battle- now.

            A stirring in her peripheral eyes made Izzy stop her pacing immediately, her head whipping to the side, her eyes piercing the night. In the distance, a slow, but gradually building light was emanating from the town of Eoforwic. Izzy squinted to get a better idea of the source.

            Izzy tightened her jaw in annoyance. _Fire._

“Idiots,” she muttered, “Complete idiots.” _By the gods,_ she thought _if the Christians didn’t know they were here before, they did now._

            Izzy turned to the warriors at her back and raised her sword into the air.

            “This is it! Shield Wall!” she shouted, earning cries of battle echoing around her, the shuffle of shields grating against each other as solid Viking walls were formed, “For Odin! For Freya! For Valhalla!”

            Tribal pounding of axes and swords beating against wooden shields filled the forest with a dangerous tune, filling the blood of the Vikings with renewed bloodlust and menace.

            Feeling the flow of energy sinking into her bones, Izzy turned on her heel and started into a light jog towards the burning city. Hearing the thunders of hundreds of Viking feet behind her giving her wings to soar against the night.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

            Starkweather kicked his heels against the strong underbelly of the horse beneath him, urging the stead to quicken its pace. Leaning forward, his heart pounding in his throat, Starkweather rode ahead of his army, eager to see with his own eyes the fate of Eoforwic. If half of what the scout reported was true, Starkweather knew that this night would change the course of history forever.

            Coming to a clearing among the trees, Starkweather pulled back against the reigns slowing the horse’s long strides into a gentle prod. Starkweather fixed his gaze in between the trees, looking out into the night, finding the city of Eoforwic under the same moonlighting as he had before, however, now there was a flickering light coming from within the city that turned his stomach.

            “Mary, mother of God,” Starkweather whispered between panting breaths. Years of experience on the battlefield and a lifetime of following his instincts told him that this particular light source wasn’t here by accident, but a clear and purposeful act.

            Letting his eyes focus else, Starkweather blanched when his eyes landed on the hoard of shadows advancing on the vulnerable city of Eoforwic. Seeing the straight rows of warriors and the undeniable shape of their shields, Starkweather knew immediately who he was looking at- Vikings.

            Crossing himself with the Christian symbol of the cross, Starkweather sent a prayer to God for a strong hand and a mighty sword against the devil before her turned his stead around and headed straight for his army.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

            Barely holding back the angry tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks, Clary swiftly made her way through the corridors of the castle. Eager to put as much distance between her and the light cheers and laughter in her “distinguished honor,” Clary didn’t hear the quick footsteps quickly gaining on her.

            Roughly shaken from her tunneled vision and thought, Clary had a brief moment of recognition that someone was right behind her before she felt a cold grip wrap around her upper arm throwing her backwards into the wall.

            Seeing black spots dance before her, blocking her vision, Clary had to focus her concentration to not pass out at the moment. But she didn’t need her sight to tell her whose arms now caged her against the cool, stonewall behind her.

            Her eyes began to clear of the black spots, her lungs filling with the air that had been so crudely taken from her moments ago. Sebastian’s looming, feral face, inches from her own could be seen staring down at her.

            Every fiber in Clary’s body wanted to cower in fear against the menacing, black eyes that bore into her own, green emeralds. She wanted to throw up her hands in an effort to protect herself from their soul-engulfing presences, shield her eyes from their piercing stare. But a deep, still voice in the far regions of her mind, sparked a fire deep within her. A fire that longed to take control and burn all those who made her feel weak and helpless.

            Clary could feel her blood moving through her, her breathing evening within her chest, smoothing out the rhythm of her chest, her eyes unflinching under Sebastian’s onyx gaze. To her slight embarrassment, Clary could have sworn she heard a deep growl sound from somewhere deep within her chest. She used this animalistic energy to put as much menace and authority into her voice when she finally spoke.

            “Get off of me, Sebastian,” she breathed, in a low and slow timber. She had had enough of his possessive manhandling. That was going to stop _now._

            As if her tone had barely registered in his mind, Sebastian ignored the pissed off red head under him. His eyes stayed focused on her’s, making him seem taller than her actually was.

            “That is the last time you will walk away from me, Clarissa,” he stated, his body as still as a statue, looming over her like a dark cloud. Taking one of his hands off of the wall behind her, Sebastian began running his hand through Clary’s soft, red hair. He watched delightfully as his fingers slid effortlessly through the length of her hair. When he sensed the young woman stiffen beneath him, he returned his gaze to her own.

            “I will not tolerate such disobedience again. Is that understood, Clarissa?” he asked, bringing his hand from her hair to rest firmly against her neck. He applied a slight pressure against her neck. Not enough to stop the air from flowing into her lungs, but just enough to get his point and seriousness across.

            Clary felt her hands clench into fists as a heavenly fire coursed through her veins, her adrenaline blinding her in rage.

            “I told you to get off of me,” she barely managed to speak before her nail came down in a fiery arc across his face, leaving a bloody trail in their wake. Sebastian reared back with a surprised cry of pain.

            Using this brief window, Clary literally leapt at the chance to make her getaway, but before she got a few paces away she was hauled backwards against another strong wall, but this was undeniably human.

            “You bitch,” Sebastian seethed as he held a struggling Clary within his grasp, he quickly slapped a hand across her mouth, stifling the scream he could feel was coming.

            Sebastian lowered he mouth to Clary’s ear and whispered, “This ends tonight, Clarissa. Tonight you will learn who your master is.” Clary’s renewed struggle as Sebastian hauled her against his form only increased his insatiable hunger for her submission.

            Clary’s mind whirled with horrific visions of what lie beyond Sebastian’s chambers as they neared. Her fear blinded her sight into a haze, her arms and legs shaking with alarm, but she was useless against his taller and stronger frame, dragging her into Hell with him.

            His mission at the forefront of his mind, Sebastian stopped in his tracks when he felt a shift of energy around him. He looked behind him, at the way he had come and listened, shaking the woman in his arms and demanding her silence. _Nothing._ He heard nothing.

            Suddenly a loud and piercing scream came from the direction of the dining hall. Clary’s heart jumped into her throat, renewing her struggle to get out of Sebastian’s arms, no longer concerned for her own safety, but that of the people in the dining hall, most importantly- her parents.

            Clary began to hear steal clashing together and shouts of terror and battle fill the air, she was scrambling, but Sebastian had the grip of death around her. She didn’t process his lack of surprise as anything, she could only focus on her need to get to her mother and father.

            Barely registering the fierce movement of the female in his arms, Sebastian stared towards the sounds of the commotion a few yards away from where they stood.

            “They’re early,” he muttered, a little annoyed that his immediate plans would have to be put on hold, but Sebastian new that his priorities must be spot on if this night was to be victorious. Focusing his attention back to the squirming red head, he turned her petite form around so that she was standing on her own two feet, facing him. He didn’t let her speak, but instead looked at her with a knowing smile.

            “I’m afraid that our evening plans will have to be put off a while longer, Clarissa,” he said, looking around them, searching for something that Clary couldn’t follow. Finding what he was looking for, he quickly through Clarissa over his shoulder and took quick, easy strides towards the door to his left. He felt Clary’s small fists pounding on his back and heard every swear word falling like a flurry from her beautiful lips, but he ignored her, swatting her on the ass to quiet her.

            He let himself into a modestly furnished room for guests and deposited his heap onto the bed, not staying to watch her beautiful form bounce on the bed, knowing that time was precious.

            Before Clary could gather her wits, Sebastian slammed the door behind him and wedged a door under the handle, effectively locking her in the room. He heard the yelling immediately from the other side of the door, as the angry, young woman approached the door. With a grin forming on his face, Sebastian laid his palm against the doorframe, feeling the pulsation of a door being shaken from the other side.

            “Stay put, Clarissa,” Sebastian chuckled, the doorframe rattling like the bars of a cage, “I’ll be back for you later and we will finish what we started.”

            Hearing Sebastian’s footfalls grow increasingly farther away, Clarissa renewed her pounding against the door. Her throat started getting sore from her loud shouting begging Sebastian to let her out. She knew it was useless, but she didn’t know what else she should do.

            Finally accepting that Sebastian wasn’t going to come back any time soon, Clary looked around her, furiously looking for a way out of this predicament. She didn’t know what was going on, but she had to make sure her mother and father were all right. Clary made a promise to herself right there and then. She would not be remembered as a princess who just ran in the presence of danger, but a warrior who would do anything to protect her home and those she loved.


	9. Chapter 9

            His face slick with his own sweat and the stench of strangers’ blood, Jace tore through the streets of Eoforwic. The sound of metal clashing, men yelling, women and children crying, the song of battle washed over his ears. He moved with a graceful quickness, his light hair flowing behind him.

            Jace could see the gates to the grounds of the castle just a few yards away from where he stood fighting a man twice his build, but with half the sword skill he had. He thought it curious that his arms and legs hadn’t grown the least bit tired since the battle began, but he also couldn’t ignore the force driving him towards those gates. Was it something inside of him pushing him forward, or was it something outside his control pulling him to it?

           Never allowing anything or anyone control him, Jace shrugged it off as his Viking instincts coming out when in battle. He quickly jabbed his sword through the weakest part of his enemy’s armor and killed the man instantly. Jace wiped the blood from his axe on the man’s armor and made his way to the gates.

            Eager with the hunger to claim victory for his father and Odin, the All-Father, Jace stepped over the threshold, on the castle grounds.

            Jace was engulfed in a rush of chaos. It appeared that Christian men were fighting other Christian men with a view Viking men and women thrown about fighting whoever they could get there hands on.

            Jace only smiled, more enemies to kill.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

            Jocelyn quickly stepped through the great halls of the castle, eager to find her daughter, but as she rounded each corner, not finding her, she grew more and more restless. A once small knot in her stomach now grew beneath the surface as the guilt and shame she felt for forcing her daughter into a marriage that even she was now beginning to be weary about.

            With no one around, Jocelyn felt her shoulders slump. She couldn’t keep up the façade right now. She needed to be a mother at this moment, not a queen. She had betrayed her daughter’s happiness. For what, she didn’t know.

            Jocelyn’s pace slowed as the hairs on her neck began to prickle with static. Coming to a complete stop in the middle of the hallway, Jocelyn straightened to her full height and smoothed her facial features.

           She slowly turned to address the person stalking behind her, her eyes resting on the leaning figure against the wall. _Valentine._

          “Valentine,” Jocelyn muttered, her head barely bowing in his direction, as a queen should address a king, but her voice dripped loathing and annoyance. She turned back in the direction she was headed and quickly set back down her path. She closed her eyes when she felt his unmistakable presence fall into step beside her, she could smell the ale he had been drinking rolling off of him in waves.

          “If you were mine, I would never let such a priceless jewel as yourself walk back to your chambers alone, Jocelyn,” he sang, the stench of his breath making her stomach turn.

          Jocelyn’s eyes grew cold, never leaving the path in front of her, through clenched teeth she spoke, “You will refer to me as Queen Jocelyn or you will not address me at all, is that clear?”

         Valentine only chuckled, “There’s that fiery spirit that I love so much about you, _Queen_ Jocelyn. You are as fierce as you are beautiful.”

        Unwilling to play his games, Jocelyn sighed, “Is there a purpose as to why you are following me, my King, or are you lost?”

        “Mmm, _my king,”_ Valentine spoke smoothly, rolling the words around in his mouth, “It sounds so good coming from your beautiful lips, _my Queen.”_

        Jocelyn stopped dead in her tracks, swiveling to face Valentine head on, her green eyes piecing his eyes like a thousand sharp swords. She commanded her body to still, not allowing it to show any signs of weakness when she really wanted to scream for her husband and run into his arms.

            “Enough with your word games, Valentine,” Jocelyn seethed, watching as he came to a halt a couple steps ahead of her. She watched him turn towards her, a devilish grin across his drunken face. “Say what you will and then be gone, I have important matters to attend to before tomorrow.”

            “Ah, yes, the royal wedding,” Valentine cooed, slowly stepping until he was standing right in front of Jocelyn, his taller and bulkier form drowning her in his shadow, “How fitting that my son is to marry you daughter.”

            Before Jocelyn could respond, she felt her back brush against a wooden door, leading herself backwards into a steady. She hadn’t noticed her subconscious steps backwards as Valentine advanced towards her.

            Not about to be trapped, alone with Valentine, Jocelyn moved to step around Valentine’s figure, but Valentine was ready for this. Though his words were slurred with drunkenness, Valentine’s reflexes were sharper than ever. His hand reached out beside him, blocking Jocelyn’s escape. He could only smile down at the beautiful, red head before him, her eyes sparking with flames.

            “Stay awhile, my love,” Valentine said slyly, his free hand coming to her face to remove a single strand behind her ear, “Couldn’t you spare a few moments for an old friend?”

            Jocelyn jerked away from his hand as if it were a hot, branding iron, “We aren’t friends, Valentine and you’re being to forward.”

            Valentine sighed, dramatically, faking a hurt expression on his face, “You are the only woman in the world who can hurt me the way you do, Jocelyn. We used to be so close growing up, do you remember? We were practically betrothed since birth.”

            Jocelyn’s eyes flicked downward for a fraction of a second, instantly transported back to when she was a teenager. Yes, she had been a young girl once, impressed by the handsome and strong Prince Valentine, but it was later that she found out how cruel and possessive he could be, especially towards her.

            “I remember a young man who never learned the meaning of word _no,_ ” she muttered, her eyes again looking back into his dark pools. She looked past his figure and to the waiting and open door, “It seems nothing has changed.”

            Valentine’s lips curled into a smile, his eyes falling to her barely parted lips, “I seem to remember an occasion when the word _no_ did not fall from your lips.”

            Jocelyn’s eyes snapped back to Valentine’s, angry clouds gathering in her irises, fueling Valentine’s excitement and lust.

            “Enough,” Jocelyn growled, “This is far too inappropriate, Valentine, now let me go!”

            Moving at lightning speed, surprising even himself, Valentine to the queen’s head in his hands and planted a wet kiss on her unsuspecting lips. His tongue cruelly dug at her tightened lips, demanding entry, but Jocelyn steeled herself against him. When all of her senses came back to her, she was able to move her hands between them and she pushed against his large chest, but he was unmovable.

            To her horror, his hands slithered from her head as he placed them behind her back, when he started back her smaller frame farther and farther within the study. He was relentless as he assaulted her face with his eagerness, but Jocelyn stood like a impenetrable statue.

            Finally, Valentine came up for air, allowing Jocelyn to take her shot. With all the hurt, fear and anger she could muster, Jocelyn slapped the side of Valentine’s face with the palm of her hand.

            “How dare you,” she screeched, her whole body trembling, but her voice as strong and enraged as ever, “I am married to the _King_ , you fool! You will not disrespect me in this way ever again!”

            Jocelyn turned to make her exit but was thrust backwards when a pair of strong bands wrapped around her waist, pulling her feet clean off the ground.

            “Jocelyn, please,” Valentine playfully begged, “Let me show you how good we can be together.” He enjoyed the feel of this strong-willed woman thrashing against him. He was already hard with lust and her small, feminine frame was beginning to make him dizzy with need.

            “No,” Jocelyn shouted, tears beginning to form in her eyes, “Valentine, stop. You’re drunk, don’t do this.”

            “I would do what the lady asks,” a cool, deadly voice said, instantly stilling the movement in the room.

            Jocelyn’s heart flew in her throat as her watering eyes landed on her husband’s enraged features appeared before her.

            “Luke,” she croaked, her chest rising and falling with her labored breath as she yearned to run into his arms.

            Luke’s eyes briefly rested on his wife’s, her green eyes telling him everything he needed to know. His eyes slid back to Valentine’s and Luke could feel every muscle in his body tensing for the fight that was to come. He would kill this man for what he put Joss through, he swore it to himself.

            Valentine’s eyes slowly raked the figure standing in the doorway, all of his senses going on high alert as his body realized he was in danger. Never one to show any sign of fear, Valentine smiled as he slowly released his hold on Jocelyn’s waist. He watched as she sprang from his grasp and hurried to her husband’s side. Valentine’s eyes flicked to the king, taking in his tensed shoulders, his right hand resting gently over the hilt of his sword.

            “Lucian,” Valentine greeted, not hiding the fake timber in his voice, “The queen and I were just getting _reacquainted.”_

Luke took a step forward, pulling his sword inches out of its holster, but stilled when he felt a firm tug on his forearm. He knew it was his wife signaling to him that this fight wasn’t worth it. He looked at Valentine and saw that he was drunk and that even if he killed Valentine, it wouldn’t be honorable to kill a drunken fool. He would deal with this man in the morning.

            “I’m giving you your life, Valentine,” Luke said through clenched teeth, “I do not have time for you this night.”

            Valentine smiled cruelly, his eyes swinging over Jocelyn before his eyes rested on Luke’s, “On the contrary, my King, “I think it is the perfect time.” Valentine pulled his sword from its sheath clean out and held it out with both hands, his legs parting in a fighting stance.

            “That’s enough,” Jocelyn shouted, Luke’s arm outstretching to keep his wife from advancing on the menacing king.

            “Valentine,” Luke warned, “You do not want to do this. The pagans are here, we need to fight them _together._ ”

            “I think I’ll take my chances,” Valentine sneered and before Luke could react, Valentine jumped at Luke, his sword swinging in the air.

            Inches from his face, Luke was able to deflect Valentine’s advances. Never taking his eyes off of Valentine’s movements, Luke shouted for Jocelyn to find Clary and to get somewhere safe.

            “No,” Jocelyn cried out to her husband as she watched him narrowly deflect each of Valentine’s advances, “I will not leave you here alone!”

            Angry that his wife was being stubborn at a time like this, yet even more frightened for her safety, Luke turned to make a demand as her king to leave, but this brief moment of distraction gave Valentine the window he needed to cut Luke across the chest.

            Luke fell to his knees, his hands instantly coming to his chest, he could hear Jocelyn yelling his name somewhere in the distance. His eyes flew to his hands atop his chest, his eyes growing big as the blood poured around his fingers.

            “Luke!” Jocelyn cried, a burst a strength launching her to her husband’s side, but she was stopped when Valentine’s sword swiveled up to face her.

            “That’s close enough, my love,” he said, watching as the tip of his sword nestled against the smooth skin of her throat, “I want you to watch as I take your husband’s life right in front of you. I want you to watch the light fade from his eyes.”

            “You bastard,” Jocelyn whispered, her eyes leaving her silent, bleeding husband. She spat in Valentine’s face, probably the most un-lady like thing she had down all her life, but she didn’t care. Valentine was no man; he was a monster.

            “With death comes new life, my love,” Valentine cooed, looking down at the wounded king at his feet, “You’re new life starts with his death.”

            “I will _never_ share a life with you, Valentine,” Jocelyn said cruelly, the weight of her tears making her voice shake, but her tone was final.

            “Oh my dear,” Valentine said sweetly, looking at the beautiful queen in front of him, he admired her spirit, he would enjoy breaking that spirit even more, “Like you have a ch—“

            Valentine was harshly cut off from finishing his sentence, when a large bulk launched into him from the ground sending him hurtling to the ground. His sword was knocked from his grip in his surprise.

            Hearing his wife being threatened gave Luke the energy he needed to defend his wife from the evil man. Luke was able to pin Valentine instantly to the ground, his knees digging into his chest as his closed fists connected with every part of Valentine’s face.

            Luke was uncontrollable; he saw red flash before his eyes and briefly wondered if it was his rage of Valentine’s blood. He hoped it was the ladder. He could faintly hear Jocelyn shouting his name in the background, but the rage inside of him was consuming him whole.

            Like a switch, Luke suddenly stopped when he felt the cool tip of a blade against the back of his neck.

            “I would do what the queen asks, Lucian,” a young man’s voice said.

            Luke turned his head, his eyes resting on Sebastian Morgenstern, his black eyes peering into his own like fathomless pits. Luke slowly picked himself off the floor, his eyes never leaving the young princes’.

            “Sebastian,” Luke pleaded, “Now is not the time to fight amongst ourselves. The pagans are here, we must fight them if we wish to survive.”

            Sebastian didn’t move this tip of the sword away from Luke’s neck as he thought about what to say next.

            “I’ve decided that now is the perfect time, Lucian,” Sebastian said, cooly, “The pagans can have there fun pillaging and raping, but when they’re bored, I will be here to pick up the pieces of this poor, pathetic kingdom- my father as king.”

            Sebastian watched with a coy smile as his words registered in King Lucian’s head. He enjoyed the look of surprise turn into anger, the emotions so fleeting across the defeated king’s face.

            “Excuse me, boy,” Luke seethed, stepping toward the boy prince, but was met with twenty armed guards he did not recognize brandishing their swords in his direction.

            Sebastian sheethed his sword into his sheath, a knowing smile playing on his lips, “Escort the king to the dungeons, I am done with him here.

            “No!” Jocelyn yelled from behind, thrashing against the guard that held her to let her go, “Guards!”

            “Shut her up!” Sebastian demanded. The guard holding the struggling queen wrapped a single arm around her waist and his free hand clapped against her mouth.

            Sebastian smiled as the queen’s eyes locked with his in outrage, he could see Clarissa in her mother and it made him chuckle.

            “There’s no use shouting for help, my lady,” Sebastian sneered, “They’re being slaughtered by the pagan scum.”

            Eyes wide, Jocelyn breathed a single word, “Clary.”

            Sebastian smiled coyly, “Don’t worry about Clarrisa, I have seen to it personally that she is out of harm’s –“

            Sebastian was cut off when a animalistic growl sounded from behind him, as if a wolf lived inside a man. Sebastian turned to the source and found a seething King Lucian behind him.

            “As God as my witness, Morgenstern, if you harm my daughter in anyway, God Himself will forsake you after what I will do to you in return.”

            Sebastian laughed cruelly, holstering his sword at his side, “As last words go, Lucian, those weren’t bad. Wasted, but not bad.”

            Sebastian walked until his was directly in front of Lucian, “I wonder what Clarissa will say when she hears her father’s last words,” he thought about this and added, “She won’t care when she’s screaming like a whore beneath me.”

            Lucian launched himself at the boy prince, anger exploding in every cell of his being, but was no match for the strong guards holding him back from the sneering prince.

            Sebastian watched with a smile on his face as the struggling king was ushered out of the room and down the halls. When the king’s shouts of anger could no longer be heard, Sebastian turned his attention back to the queen.

            Sebastian placed himself firmly infront of the queen, her tears leaving wet tracks on her face. She was beautiful, like her daughter. She too had fiery, red hair and green eyes, but her eyes were wiser and held years of womanly experience, where Clarissa’s held youthfulness.

            “Jocelyn,” Sebastian cooed, placing stray stands of smooth hair behind her ear, “If you wish to keep your family alive, you will give my father _whatever_ he wants, after all, he is your king now.”

            Sebastian watched as his meaning registered in the queen’s mind, her eyes flicking to his father’s just behind him. Sebastian saw a brief glimpse of fear spark behind those cool, green eyes, but watched as they disappeared just as suddenly behind a strong wall of green glass. This woman was strong, he thought. I guess he and his father had the same taste in woman.

            “She is your’s now, father, do with her what you will tonight,” Sebastian said, turning to his father behind him, quickly losing interest in his father’s affairs, “For tomorrow you will be King of Northumbria.”

            Valentine slowly came to stand in front of the queen, even with her face covered in tears, she was still beautiful. He looked her over, slowly, until his eyes came to rest on her lips. He reached out, his hand cupping the back of her neck, pulling her to him, he switched his direction and placed a small kiss on her forehead.

            “Take the queen to my bed chambers where she is to wait for me until I come for her,” he said to the guards and watched as the struggling queen was taken from the room.

            Growing tired of his father’s presence, Sebastian turned to his father, “If your childish games are over, father, perhaps now we can focus on the bigger issue- the pagans.”

            “Was this your plan all along, son?” Valentine asked as he followed his son out of the study, “I am impressed.”

            Sebastian scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Just play your part. I made you _king_ , don’t make me regret that.”

            There it was, that cold feeling again deep within Valentines gut, forcing him to involuntarily swallow the raising lump in his throat. He cleared his throat, unwilling to show his son any sign of weakness.

            “I’ve worked quite an appetite up already,” Valentine laughed, “But I suppose freeing the world of a few hundred pagans would really get me in the mood.”

            Raising his sword in the air, Valentine heard the cries of war from his men and led them out into the halls, spilling all pagan blood in their path. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so sorry for the long wait! Life has been crazy! I recently accepted a travel nursing position in Hawaii, so naturally writing wasn't a priority, but now that I'm all settled in a began to miss all of you tremendously and had the urge to write a chapter. Its about 500 words short of my word goal per chapter, but I just couldn't make myself regurgitate 500 words of nonsence just to satisfy that goal. I want to bring you guys good content! Please let me know if you're still interested in the story. I promise to set the coconuts and pineapples down long enough every once in a while to write another chapter!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Waves shyly* Hello, friends. We can all still be friends, right? I am unbelievable sorry about the long wait. I'm not going to bore you with the details of life getting in the way, other fandoms taking up my writing time, blah blah blah. I just wanted to say that while I came to a stale mate on writing this fic, it was NEVER far from my mind. I appreciate you all sticking with this fic. It is very close to my heart, it being my first attempt at an actually story and not just PWP ;) I hope this chapter makes up for the long wait. I just never want to post a chapter unless I know that its the best version I can give you because you all deserve my best! Once again, thank you and happy reading!

 

 

Cursing loudly, Clary kicked the locked door in her frustration when she realized Sebastian wouldn’t be freeing her from her makeshift prison any time soon. The sounds of battle gradually closing in on her and the high-pitched screams of women and children grating on her ears, Clary’s own panic started pressing in on her chest, making it hard to breath for a couple of moments.

The suffocating feeling forced her to take a couple steps away from the door, wanting to place herself as far away from whatever lied on the other side of the threshold. Wrapping her arms protectively around her middle, Clary yearned to be in her father’s strong embrace, the sound of her mother’s voice telling her that everything was going to be okay.

As if the thought of her parents was a punch to the gut, Clary jerked, the blood draining from her face immediately. _Her parents._ They were out there in that chaos, somewhere, possibly hurt or _worse._

Clary shook her head, pulling her mind from jumping to any unnecessary conclusions. She swallowed against the rising lump in her throat; she was not some hopeless damsel in distress. She didn’t need any to rescue her, she was Clarissa Garroway and she held her fate in her own hands.

Now that her mind had something to focus on, Clary felt her breathing even out, her eyes scanning the room’s contents for anything to help free her from her confinement. The room was scarcely packed with furniture, a general room for guests that didn’t have the station or reputation deserving of a more impressive room. Still, it had a nice sized fireplace, a table and chairs, a few dressers and desks, a bed, and finally, Clary noticed gratefully, a small, wooden sofa.

 _Perfect,_ she thought. Rushing across the room, Clary began dragging the small piece of furniture through the room, stopping when she was satisfied at it location just feet from the door, one arm of the couch perpendicular to the door’s center.

Sending up a quick prayer for the strength, Clary dug her feet into the floor, leveraging her full body weight against the opposite arm of the couch, steering the couches direction towards the door. With each step, the couch moved a little faster, the momentum picking up.

With a final grunt, Clary pushed with all her might, sending both the couch and herself hurtling towards the doors. With a loud thump, simultaneously, Clary was tossed over the arm of the chair, her momentum suddenly obstructed by an unmoving couch, but not before she heard the unmistakable sound of wood cracking.

Clary scrambled off the couch, a small ounce of hope raising in her chest at the thought that maybe this sporadic plan to free herself could actually work. She moved the couch away from the door, and sure enough, a chunk of wood was missing from the door, a sign that her plan was working.

With a squeal of excitement, Clary took her place once more behind the couch. Her brows furrowing in concentration, Clary made sure that the couch’s arm would penetrate the weakest part of the door. Once more planting her feet against the floor, Clary launched herself and the couch forward.

A loud splintering sound accosted her ears, startling her, the brief distraction forcing her to lose her balance, falling to the floor. Unwilling to lose a second of time, she quickly bounded to her feet, her eyes immediately focusing on her progress. She let out a sigh of relief, seeing that the couch had slid _through_ the couch-sized hole between the doors. She could see shards of wood littering the floor of the hallway just outside the door and gave herself a nod of approval.

Pulling the couch out of the hole, Clary made quick work of checking the hall for any immediate danger ( _it was not lost on her that she could have very well put herself in more danger just by causing so much noise just now, but her only thought had been to get out.)_

When the coast had been deemed clear, Clary gingerly walked into the hallway, her senses on full alert. She kept to the sides of the hallway, using the shadows to hide her movements as she made her way through the castle, eager to get to her room to fetch her bow and arrows. She wasn’t naïve enough to think she could move through the halls without some sort of weapon. She would need every advantage she could get her hands on, even if that meant taking the precious time away from looking for her family. After all, she wouldn’t be any use to them if she was dead, or worse, captured.

Though ironic, Clary briefly thanked Sebastian for locking her in a room that was just a few hallways down from her own bedroom. Just for that she would let him live, miserably, but he would still be living after she was done with him.

She quickly entered her room, her eyes narrowing on the bow and arrow lying haphazardly on her bed from when she’d thrown them down earlier before the banquet. Her mother always hated her leaving them out like that, but at this present time, she was glad for her laziness earlier. She immediately strapped the arrows to her back, feeling the familiarity of their weight between her shoulders, making her body come alive underneath it.

The smoothness of her bow was welcoming in her otherwise shaking hand, but once the wood made contact with her skin, her hand stilled, the stillness of a seasoned archer settling in. Feeling a bit of her self-control slip back into grasp, her mind was finally able to focus at it full capacity; she new what she had to do.

Turning towards the door, Clary jogged to her door, disappearing into the hallway, silently praying that she wasn’t already too late.

           

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

No amount of sword training or hours spent studying tactical advantages and strategies could have prepared Simon for what was happening before him. He supposed that nothing could ever _truly_ prepare someone for battle, but the chaos around him was certainly something he would have never truly understood until coming face-to-face with it.

Bodies littered the halls, men, women and children, their eyes looking back at him, the light of life diminished from their faces forever. He kept his eyes forward as he ran through the halls, searching for his best friend, but the smell, _the smell of blood,_ permeated the air and threatened to double him over as he spilled the meager contents of his already churning stomach.

He tried to focus on finding Clary, but something in the back of his head kept gnawing at the surface. Something wasn’t right here, well, something other than the castle being overran by the pagans.

Simon slowed, coming to a hallway filled with men fighting each other, some in metallic, shining armor, the crests of kingdom close and far etched into their chests, while others wore more earthy tones, their clothing resembling sheep cloth and other furs. _Pagans._

However, and this was very ironic, the fact that his fellow countrymen and allies were fighting the pagans wasn’t the strangest thing going on at the present moment. In a couple of instances, Simon had realized that Northumbrian knights were becoming increasingly entangled in small skirmishes with knights from Mercia.

Simon stopped dead in his tracks as a single name crossed his mind, _Sebastian._ Could he really be so calculating and cold to use the threat of an invading pagan army to his advantage, hoping to steal the kingdom of Northumbria while it was under attack?

Simon scoffed to himself, as if the thought needed to be answered. Of course it was well within the realm of possible actions taken by the dark prince. Sebastian was diabolical and cruel, conniving and evil. He’d use any advantage he had to take what he wanted.

Simon’s eyes widened in horror. “ _Clary_ ,” he whispered, his breath catching in his throat as her name flitted across her mind. _He wants Clary._

Using the fear for his friend’s safety, Simon let the thought of getting to her soon, propel him forward, doubling his speed and effort to get to her. He was making good time, swerving around small skirmishes in the hallways, careful not to engage in any battles; he wasn’t stupid enough to think his skills with a sword could outmatch any man here today.

His worrying thoughts nearly blinded him to the group of Mercian soldiers walking in a huddle towards him. He brushed up against the wall, hoping they would pass him without noticing him, letting him skim by as he searched for Clary.

If the soldiers had noticed him, they didn’t acknowledge him. Exhaling a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, Simon turned to start running again, but a flash of red stilled him in his tracks.

Turing with wide eyes, fearing that the enemy had caught his best friend, he felt a cold rush zip through his body. Before he was thinking clearly, Simon cleared his throat.

“Halt in the name of the King,” he said, his voice a little shaky, but held with enough fake authority that he hoped that maybe he had a slight chance of them listening to him. What he was going to do after they “halted” he didn’t know, but he was thinking on the fly, one step at a time, something Clary had told him repeatedly that he wasn’t very good at. He let her do all the quick thinking as they grew up, sometimes it getting them in trouble and sometimes it got them out of trouble. Right now, it was up to him.

Noticing that the guards hadn’t even stumbled at his command, Simon jogged so that he could walk next to them.

“I said—“ he started, but was interrupted when a feminine voice called out between the soldiers.

“Simon?” the voice said and he immediately recognized it as Clary’s mother, Queen Jocelyn.

“My lady?” Simon choked, having to walk briskly to keep up with the long strides of the guards, “What’s going on? Do you need help?”

“No, Simon, listen to me,” her voice growing high with concern, “You have to find Clary. She isn’t safe, Simon. You have to find her.”

Simon slowed his pacing as he watched the guards drag his queen away, his honor as a future knight warring with his duty as a best friend.

“What about you?” he called, taking a few steps in his direction. Clary would never forgive him if something happened to her.

“I’ll be fine, Simon,” she yelled over her shoulder, “Just find Clary and _run._ GO!”

Simon swiveled on his heel, the urgency to find his friend nearly sending him into a blind panic. Things were so much worse than he had feared and he’d thought he had pretty much pegged tonight as the worse night of his life. It turns out, this night was going to be one of the longest as well.

 

~*~*~*~*~*

 

Quickly growing frustrated by the amount of time it was taking her to find her parents, Clary eased herself around yet another corner, using the shadows of the walls to conceal her presence as small battles were raged all around her. She quickly sent a thank you to God, perhaps for the first time ever, thanking him for her small stature, which allowed her maneuver through the shadows undetected.

Finding her parents was her first priority, and using the guards that were no doubt surrounding and protecting them, then and only then would she turn her thoughts to engaging in battle. Though she knew she would have to convince her parents to help, she knew it was something that she had to do.

When her mind finally caught up with what she was seeing in front of her, Clary stopped dead in her tracks, her next breath firmly lodged in her chest. Her mouth dried immediately as she watched the small skirmish take place in front of her, the sounds of metal clashing against metal, sparks flying in different directions.

She recognized three of the fighters as her own, each of them proudly displaying her family’s crest on their blood splattered armor, not to mention her families forgotten banner on the ground.

However, it was the three foreign invaders that pulled her attention, and seemingly stopped her body in every way possible, save from the rapid beating of her heart, otherwise she remained perfectly still, her fear planting her feet in her place.

The three foreigners, based on their apparel and homemade weapons, fought for the pagans, but that wasn’t the most bizarre and dangerously intriguing thing about the trio. To Clary’s astonishment and, to be honest, a hint of intrigue, the three young people fought with the charisma and balance of a team. They worked _as a team_ cutting down the men in their paths one by one. It would almost be poetic if Clary hadn’t grown up around these men, knew their wives and children.

Still, she couldn’t seem to move a single inch of her body, seemingly frozen to her spot as she watched the chaos ensue. Her eyes fell immediately to the two dark headed figures- one male and one female. They raven dark hair, tall statue, and blue eyes were strikingly similar, leading Clary to believe that they were somehow related.

The older male constantly had his eyes on the younger woman, seemingly watching out for her, but to Clary, it seemed as though the girl, probably a year older than her, could handle herself just fine. She wielded her weapon against her opponents as if it were a mere extension of her arm. A brief moment of jealously and awe ran through Clary, wishing that she’d had this type of training, but the moments she stole to work on her sword skill or archery, were eons short of the grace and fluidity the dark-haired girl presented in front of her.

Clary’s eyes shift to the other male in her room and suddenly her eyes grew even larger. She recognized him instantly, it was _him,_ the one from the archery contrast. She remembered those eyes, their brilliant shade of gold, giving lightness to his eyes that she had never seen before. His movements were fluid and calculating, besting his opponents one by one. He seemed to enjoy it as a smile was plastered to his blood splattered face.

The dimly lit chandelier feet above them made his blonde hair glow, reminding Clary of an avenging angel sent her to purge the world of all its evil. It was ironic, since his very existence was the epitome of _evil._

Clary was immediately pulled from her thoughts when all noise in the room disappeared. Her mind pulling from her thoughts, registering what her eyes were seeing before her, she swallowed audibly. Three pairs of eyes, two blue and one gold, were staring back at her, the bodies of her countrymen at their feet.

It’s as if time stood still, the breath she took into her lungs seeming as though it took years to exhale. She couldn’t move if she wanted to. The logical part of her mind was telling her to _run_ , but something was blocking the command from her legs and so she stood there, her eyes wide in fear, her hands shaking.

           

           

Jace studied the young, red head. He hadn’t heard her approach them as they fought, a note of annoyance brush over him at the thought of leaving him, Alec and Izzy vulnerable. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Eyeing the girl, standing there, he saw the way she stood, facing them, bow in hand. She didn’t immediately take aim at them, which was intriguing in itself, but they way her eyes flashed before him, the green irises darkening, caught his attention.

He felt a smile turn the corners of his mouth upward, _she’s afraid of us._ As well as she should be, he thought, he knew that with Alec and Izzy beside him, the trio was a formidable foe- especially for some palace princess with a bow and some sticks.

He took a step towards her, unsure of what he was going to do once he closed the distance to her, but still took the step just the same. However, it was the only step he took before an arrow was knocked into place and aimed at his chest.

He stilled, not missing the knocking of another bow, Alec’s, just over his shoulder, no doubt pointed back at the one pointed at him.

Jace shifted his gaze from the arrow leveled at his chest returning to the green eyes before and was startled to see the resolve behind them. Gone was the look of fear behind her gaze and in its stead, stood determination and maybe a tinge of rage, darkening her irises into an emerald green. He couldn’t move his eyes from her’s, mesmerized by the change he saw before him. She was a fighter; he could admire that about her. Useless against him and his partners, but he could respect her on putting up a fight.

Not taking his eyes off of the archer before him, Jace turned his head to the left, shaking his head, signaling for Alec to drop his aim. Jace didn’t miss the grunt of frustration slip from Alec’s mouth, or the muttering under his breath, but he was pleased to hear the loosening of the bow’s string over his shoulder. He turned his full attention back to the girl in front of him, expecting her to lower her arrow in good faith as he had just ordered Alec to do, but to his amusement, her posture remained straight and poised, ready to let the arrow fly at a moments notice.

 

 

Not taking her eyes from the boy she had her arrow trained on, in her periphery she saw the older, dark-haired boy lower his arrow. A moment of irritation flashed through her mind. Surely these brutes wouldn’t surrender so easily would they? No, that couldn’t be it. Could it be that the golden-haired boy didn’t see her as a threat?

Clary had to physically restrain herself from rolling her eyes. She was tired of people, mostly men, underestimating her because she dared to be born a girl. She with that thought, she kept her stance planted to the spot and kept her arrow pointed at the young boy’s chest.

His eyes bored into her’s and she felt as if he could see directly passed her fake façade of bravery. He gaze slid over her form as if he was gauging whether or not her arrow would hit it’s target or not, but still, his eyes on her were beginning to make her weak in the knees and that really pissed her off. So what if he was gorgeous to look at? He was a murderous, godless man and he deserved to be put down for the death and chaos he had brought down on her home this very night.

As if sensing the train of her thoughts, she watched as the boys eyes grew a shade brighter, his mouth quirking up in the corners, a smirk forming on his stupid, beautiful face. Temper flaring, Clary did the only thing she could at that precise moment (okay maybe not, but she had to wipe that smirk off his face).

Simultaneously exhaling, Clary relinquished the arrow from its notched, the arrow buzzing straight for its intended target. Its as if time stood still for the second time that night, as she watched the arrow pierce the air honing in closer and closer. Her heart skipped a beat; a brief moment of clarity nearly choking her when she realized this could be the night that she kills her first person. Something cold and dirty claws in the pit of her stomach, but all of her senses are trained on _him._

In a flash, quicker than her mind can follow, the blonde haired boy knocks the arrow away from its original trajectory. The only sound in the room is the clanging of her arrow hitting the ground and her rough breathing. She just stares at him for another minute, unsure of what to do next. She desperately begs for her fight or flight response to kick in, desperate to have some sort of action to focus on, _anything,_ she can’t stand here any longer under his unwavering gaze.

Gold irises fell on her’s once again, this time with slight amusement and curiosity, that same damn smirk on his face, his devilishly handsome face. Its not until he takes another step forwards, that Clary is able to move her limbs voluntarily again.

Before she fully registers his renewed advancement on her, she knocked another arrow into her bow, her drawing hand lightly resting on her cheek, poised for another round of shooting. This one wouldn’t miss her target; she wouldn’t let it.

“That’s far enough,” she muttered, her own voice, low and firm, sounding foreign to her own ears, but she didn’t let it show on her face. She kept her eyes trained on the boy who came to a brief stop, looking back at her quizzically.

           

Clary briefly calculated her odds at taking at least one of them out before they pounced on her and new that the odds weren’t in her favor. Not only were the boy’s reflexes remarkably fast, but just by the shear talent and expertise they exerted in their fighting capabilities left her firmly in the notion that her luck was the absolute worst. Still, she had to hope that there was some justice to be done here; someone had to pay for the lives taken today. She wanted it to be here to give a little bit of that justice to these heathens, even if that meant never seeing her family again. As her mother had told her, sometimes we have a bigger duty to our people than the hopes and dreams that they harbor for themselves.

 

Jace was growing more amused with the young woman before him the more he studied her, her stubbornness in the face of certain death, one of the most intriguing things about her. He had half expected her to turn tail and run as soon as they had acknowledged her presence, but as soon as the initial shock and fear had washed away, a warrior, someone with a lot of fight in them stood before him, and that’s all he needed to know.

Jace couldn’t help the smile crossing his face, something that he was sure to piss her off anymore. It hadn’t escaped him that his smirk earlier, might have been the tipping element that initially sent the first arrow flying. Typical woman, his smirk was both a blessing and a curse when it came to the opposite sex.

“Are you sure you want to try that again, woman?” he asked, nodding his head towards the arrow, trained once again at his chest. He had no fear of the arrow trained at him. She was a good shot, but the momentum behind the arrow was typical of an archer who wasn’t properly trained, therefor allowing his quick reflexes to block any of her blows.

When the women narrowed her eyes at him, he continued, “It didn’t work out so well the last time.” He watched amused as green eyes darkened in her anger and could only smile wider in return. He enjoyed pissing her off, he thought, _it was fun_. She had so much passion just in the small pupils of her eyes and it fascinated him.

“Shut up,” the woman scowled, her anger stirring something in him that he couldn’t quite name.

Jace’s eyes narrowed in thought, pressing his lips in a line of mock thought, “But how would we discuss you surrender if we cannot converse?” The fakeness in his own tone grating against his own ears, but he was having entirely too much fun.

“This is the only communication you’ll get from me,” Clary muttered, sending the second arrow hurtling towards his chest. She should have expected it, but when the infuriating boy knocked the second arrow from its target, Clary had to restrain herself from stomping her foot like a child and sticking her tongue out at him.

Watching as the trio advanced on her, Clary took another arrow from her back, training it on him once again, an idea forming in her head.

“By the gods, woman,” the golden haired boy muttered in disbelief, “Give it up. You’re outnumbered and out-skilled. Surrender.”

“Never,” Clary muttered and with a flash of movement, she trained her finely tipped arrow towards the ceiling.

Letting the arrow fly, all eyes in the room swung upwards as the arrow cut through the single chain link holding the _very_ heavy chandelier to the ceiling. Instantly, the single light source in the hall was extinguished, plunging the space into darkness, the threat of a heavy chandelier falling towards the trio below.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wasn't planning to write anything for this today, but once I started fiddling around, my muse was chomping at the bit. This story is unbeta'd, so all grammar and spelling mistakes are mine and mine alone, I'm afraid. I hope you all enjoy this! This fic really does hold a special place in my heart and I hope it does you too!

Letting years of growing up within the walls of the castle, Clary gave into the pure instinct that let her pass through the hallways unnoticed as she searched for her parents. That was all she cared about, finding her mother and father and making sure that they were okay. Then, and only then, would she allow herself to mentally process what was going on around her: Sebastian’s cryptic words, the apparent Viking invasion and perhaps the worst- that insufferable Viking _boy_. If she were completely honest with herself, it was becoming harder and harder for her to sweep him under the proverbial rug of her mind as she raced through the halls, searching, constantly searching for anyone she knew, anyone she could trust.

            Forcing all feelings accept the dull pounding of her legs against the hard ground, Clary picked up her speed and kept her focus forwards, so much so that she didn’t hear her name being called behind her. What happened next _really_ wasn’t her fault, directly. It was just pure instinct taking over once more.

            Clary felt a hand wrap around her forearm yanking her back on her feet, but years of training in battle moves had her twisting into the pull, allowing her to switch her footing so that she was facing her attacker. Her hands immediately grabbed onto the offending grasp on her arm and used it to send her assailant to the floor.

            An arrow nocked against her bow, poised in front of her and ready to aim, Clary stuttered when she heard the all too familiar grunt as the solid body connected with the ground.

            “Simon?” she whispered, her own relief like choir music to her ears. She dropped her bow to the ground, the arrow rattling along the floor, as she fell to her knees beside her best friend. “Oh my god,” she said, wrapping her arms around the young man’s familiar upper torso before he could so much as sit up properly, “Thank God you’re okay.”

            “Oh ya, perfectly okay,” he grunted, the feel of her petite hands squeezing his already sore ribs forcing him to grit his teeth against the pain. He felt her loosen his hold, hearing the pain in his voice and his was appreciative, especially when green eyes clashed with his and he could see the very obvious tears of joy in her eyes. He felt leap in his chest at the outward sign that she was so happy sign to see him, he was just as happy to see her, but he didn’t know how to express this into so many words, so he did what he always did and covered his emotions with humor.

           “But if you asked me where my dignity went,” he pondered theatrically, searching around for his fictitious self-respect, “I’d say I was forced to part with it after I was crudely thrown to the floor.”

            “Oh, Simon,” Clary giggled, wiping the unshed tears from her eyes, “What would I do without you?”

            “Probably find some other poor boy to beat up,” he muttered, starting to stand now that he’d finally found breathing coming to him normally instead of shallow gasps for air.

            Clary rolled her eyes as she wiped the imaginary dirt from his armor, straightening a few things here and there before she turned her eyes back to his, the look of relief at seeing him slowly transforming into a combination of worry and foreboding.

            “Have you seen my parents?” she barely whispered, and he could hear the desperation in her voice, her eyes pleading with her to give her the answer, the reassurances that he couldn’t give her and it broke his heart.

            “I haven’t seen the King,” he said slowly, watching the worry escalate behind her emerald eyes, “but I’ve seen the Queen.”

            Clary’s eyes lit with relief, but quickly dimmed at the worried expression on Simon’s face. He couldn’t lie to Clary. For one, she was his best friend and he would never lie to her and second, she’d be able to see right through him.

            “Where is she?” Clary asked, an urgency in her voice. When Simon didn’t answer right away, her hands flew to his shoulders, shaking them, “Where is my mother, Simon?”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

            “I think I’m in love,” Jace chuckled as he stood facing the direction in which the young, red head made her escape. He admired her courage in the face of imminent danger and her ability to think on her feet. He had been caught off guard by her brazen act of dropping a chandelier on them, but he was no less impressed.

            “You should have let me shoot her,” he heard Alec grip as he pulled himself off the ground. Alec and Izzy had fast reflections, but not fast enough and subsequently ended up sprawled on the ground behind him inches from where the now shattered chandelier sat, diminished, on the ground.

            Jace turned to his friends, a small smile on his face, “Now where would be the fun in that, Alexander?” He didn’t miss the low muttering under Alec’s breath, but turned, instead, towards the younger Lightwood as her voice spoke over her older brother’s words.

            “I like her,” she said, coming to stand beside Jace, her own smile grazing her lips, looking in the same direction he had been not two minutes ago, “She’s brave and very beautiful; she’d make a badass Viking.”

            Jace hummed in agreement, turning his eyes in the same direction as Izzy’s, a small idea forming in his head. He looked back at the young girl beside him, finding her eyes already trained on him, a knowing gleam staring back at him.

            “It’s too bad she’s already fled from our grasp,” he mused, a smirk sliding across his features, “What do you suppose we do about that, Iz?”

            “I always did like a good chase,” she replied, her eyes zeroing in on the other woman’s escape route, “I say we keep her.”

            “I like the sound of that,” he grinned, devishly, before jogging up the steps from which the young girl fled, “Quickly! She’s getting away!”

 

            Alec stood there, annoyed, as he watched the two pains in ass disappear from view. He crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw working overtime.

            “I’m not coming after you,” he yelled, knowing that it was useless. Once Izzy or Jace got something in their heads, it was a lost cause to sway them either way and put them together? Even the gods wouldn’t be able to change their minds.

            “Oh for the love of Odin,” Alec muttered, bringing his bow and a single arrow in front of him, jogging up the stairs, knowing that there was no way he was going to let Izzy or Jace anywhere without him backing him up. He knew that one of these days it would be the end of him, but dammit if he wasn’t going to protect them with his life, even if it was to protect them from themselves.

 

~*~*~*~

 

            As soon as the words tumbled from Simon’s mouth, Clary bolted towards the last place he’d said that he had seen her mother, accompanied by _Mercian_ guards of all things. Why was her mother being escorted by strangers, dangerous strangers, no doubt, in her own home? Where was her mother’s protective detail? All of these unanswered questions left a sour taste and her stomach, but right now she couldn’t think about any of that. She needed to see her mother with her own eyes, what came after that she would deal with at the moment.

            Feeling Simon not too far behind her, Clary picked up her pace desperate to have her mother’s arms wrapped around her as she told her that everything was going to be fine and that she was all right.

            Barreling around the next corner, her mind somewhere else, Clary didn’t see the massive brick wall until she smacked right into it. Sending her spiraling backwards, she was sure she was going to land on her ass amongst the debris of the chaos around her, but two beefy hands wrapped around her shoulders preventing her from falling to the floor.

            “What do we have here?” a deep, male voice slithered, his hot breath coasting over her face, making her stomach heave. She looked up at her captor and immediately saw that he was a northmen. She tried to take a step back from her prison, but the already hurtful grasp around her arms became even tighter making her hiss in pain.

            “Not so fast, kitten,” the man drawled, bringing her flush against his large chest, “The party is just getting started.”

            “Let go of me,” Clary demanded, ignoring his request for her to stay still as she wiggled in his grasp, “Now!”

            “Feisty, aren’t we, little one,” he purred, “I like it.”

            She heard the grin in his voice and she physically recoiled, something so deep, so primal screaming at her to _run_.

            “What you got there, Ivar?” a second male voice was heard, turner her captor’s attention, Ivar she supposed, behind him before he looked back at her with a salacious grin on his face.

            “It seems I’ve found my entertainment for the evening, Ragnar,” he mused before his lips coming dangerously close to the shell of her ear, so that his next words were only for her, “I’m going to enjoy tonight, kitten, and so will you, for a time.”

            Clary felt all the blood drain from her face as his words came crashing down on her like the violent waves of the sea. Her legs nearly buckled as she heard the soft laughter in her ear as he slowly pulled away, his big beefy face once again coming into her voice, his toothy grin not inches from her face. She could feel the acid bile in her stomach growing and was sure that she would be forcibly retching at this moment if she had eaten anything in the last several hours.

            The second Viking, Ragnar, he had been called, came up behind Ivar looking at Clary over his friend’s shoulder and made a noise of appreciation from the back of his throat.

            “I hope you intend on sharing, brother,” he spoke, not taking his eyes off of the petrified, redhead still clasped in his friends embrace.

            “Perhaps,” Ivar mused, “If there is anything left to be shared, that is.” Clary didn’t miss the suddenly hardening length pressing into her stomach and immediately felt the burning of tears behind her eyes. She wanted to yell, to scream, but the tears were clogging her throat, rendering her useless, voiceless. And she knew in that moment, that she had never been so scared, so helpless and it terrified her.

            “I’d let the lady go if I were you,” a familiar voice said and Clary physically stiffened. _Simon._

Ivar’s roaming eyes slid from her heaving chest to the young man who had materialized from where the young maiden had just moments ago. He took in the young man’s stature, sizing up his would-be foe and came to a conclusion. The boy was just that, a _boy_. Young and inexperienced.

            Ivar slowly turned the young woman in his arm so that she faced the young intruder, feeling her stiffness in his arms as she reconized the young lad. Yes, he could use this to his advantage.

            He felt it the instant her youthful behind connected with his cock, making a low growl slip from his chest. It had been a while since he’d had a bitch this young or fair skinned. Her skin felt so smooth, so soft underneath his fingertips, he couldn’t help but knead it beneath his fingers. He didn’t miss the way she tried to recoil from his touch; he basked in it.

            _Soon, kitten,_ he thought _, soon you will crave nothing but my touch._

Turning his attention back to the young bastard who dared to ruin his fun, his eyes fell on the slightly shaking, but determined stance of the young male before him.

            “Let me guess,” he mused, an air of boredom in his voice, “You’ve come to free the helpless, fair lady from the clutches of the evil monster?”

            The young man unsheathed his sword and even Ivar had to give him props to the steadiness of his hand.

            “Clary is never helpless,” he said, grasping the hilt of his sword with two hands, “But I’d die before I’d let you harm her in any way.”

            “ _Simon,”_ the young woman squeaked between his hands, the warning and pleading evident in her voice. She cared about the young man enough to plead with him not to take his chances with the big brute behind her. How delicious.

            Ivar steadied the young man before him and briefly thought that maybe he’d underestimated the young boy. He was momentarily brought out of his thoughts when he heard Ragnar from behind him.

            “Let me get rid of the little runt, Ivar,” he said, the grin all but confirmed in his voice alone, “I’ll take care of him, while you get our girl warmed up.”

            Ivar chuckled, his hands running lazily up and down the young woman’s arms. _Clary_ , he remembered the boy saying her name. He inwardly rolled his eyes, _what a very girly name._

            “Patience, brother,” Ivar counseled, looking back at the young male in front of him. _Simon,_ he corrected himself. That is what _Clary_ had called him.

            “I think I’ll let the young lad fight for the fair maiden,” he mused, “After all, I’ll need a little something to wet my whistle for what will come afterwards.”

           

 

            Clary gasped as she was roughly handed from one set of beefy hands to another as Ivar advanced on Simon.

            “Simon, _run!”_ she yelled, twisting in Ragnar’s grip. _Damn,_ she thought, _what did they feed these men in the north?_

            “Quiet, you!” Ragnar sneered, caging her against his expansive chest with one hand as the other clamped across her mouth. She struggled against his hold, but it was no use. She stilled when her peripheral saw Ivar reaching for the axe in his built, heading directly for Simon.

            “No, no, no!” she cried into the filthy hand covering her mouth, she could feel the tears openly falling from her eyes, not caring how weak it made her look. This couldn’t possibly be happening. Not Simon, Lord please, _not Simon!_

As Simon took his first step, Clary turned her head away, unable to watch the blow that undoubtedly end her brave, stupidly brave, best friend’s life. However, the rough hand over her mouth grip her jaw and forced her eyes to connect with the seen before her.

            “Nice try, kitten, but that’s not how it works,” Ragnar breathed against her ear, Ivar’s disgusting nickname making her sour stomach return ten fold, “You’re going to watch as my friend cut’s down your brave rescuer like the dog he is.” Clary felt there barest tip of a wet tongue slowly slide up the shell of her ear, “And then we will see what’s between those unblemished, Christian legs.”

            Clary renewed her struggle to release herself from the Vikings embrace, his maniacal laughter at her effort spurring her own. She was about to stamp down on his large foot, but the sound of Simon’s cry of pain had her frozen in her spot, her eyes immediately seeking her best friend.

            Clary’s own cry stuck in her throat as she watched Simon fall to his knees, a giant gash across his chest. His armor had obviously been cut away as Ivar teased him with death blows, keeping him alive as he danced around the young man’s own ineffective swings.

            Clary watched with horrified eyes as Simon blood poured out of the massive abrasion along his chest at an alarming speed, his name coming to her lips is a rasped whisper. She followed the blade of Ivar’s sword as it slid beneath Simon’s chin, lifting the smaller man’s chin upwards so he could look into his eyes.

            “I’m not going to kill you yet,” he snarled, the edge of the blade cutting into Simon’s neck, but you’d never know if it stung or not since Simon’s eyes had already closed, “I want you to watch as my friend and I sink ourselves between the legs of your pretty friend here. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

            Ivar released Simon from the blade’s grip and she watched as his body slid to the floor. From this distance she couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not and it terrified her to no end. She picked up her struggling once more, not caring if it was useless or not, she had to do something. She had to get to Simon.

            She was forced to look into Ivar’s devouring eyes when his bulk obstructed her view of Simon’s prone body on the floor. Her eyes lingered on the way his tongue swiped his lower lip as he took in her struggling form. He got off on her pain, her struggling, her helpless, _the bastard_.

            “Now,” he said, coming to a hault immediately in front of her, his hand coming to caress the hair on the side of her head as if he was touching a lover, “Where were we?”

            Clary was about to scream, feeling it deep down to her toes, the feel of worry for her mother and father, her kingdom, the hopelessness at seeing her friend fall lifeless to the ground and the very real fear she felt for herself in that moment, but it all came to a sudden stop when a voice rang straight through her.

            “That’s enough, Ivar,” a cool, male voice commanded, making the hairs on Clary’s neck stand on end. The voice immediately gave way to a face, one that she nearly forgot about in the moments that had followed their last encounter not fifteen minutes ago. She felt Ivar grip the back of her neck as he pulled her to him, effectively claiming her as his. From here, she could see the golden haired boy and his companions and was silently thanking the Lord that her plan to squish them beneath the chandelier hadn’t worked out. Between the three of them and Ivar and his pal, Ragnar, she’d take those three any day. She was ripped out of her momentary relief when Ivar rough voice sounded over the top of her head.

            “Piss off, Jace,” Ivar growled, “Get your own whore; she’s mine.”          

            Her eyes flicked to the young boys, it seems the nights advanced had rendered her speechless and so she just stood there, her eyes observing, her mouth closed like the damsel in distress she had always hated in all the stories she had been told as a young girl.

            She saw something flash in the young man’s eyes, Jace he was called, but she couldn’t quite put a name to it as he physically cooled his features and gazed back at Ivar, seemingly unaffected by the other man’s warning.

            “I’d hardly call her your’s,” he said, the edginess in his voice giving him a dangerous aura.

            Clary felt Ivar’s grip tighten against her neck and had to stifle the urge to howl and pain. Instead, she just tamped down the need to release any sort of outward motion, saving it for when it really mattered. Right now, the immediate attention was not on her and so it gave her time to think. Of what, she didn’t know? A plan? An escape route?

            Ivar’s hand that wasn’t currently holding her hostage swept out expansively to his left, “I fought and one the rights to her body, Jace. I could fuck her now or kill her, but either way, _she is mine.”_

            Clary watched as Jace’s eyes looked in the direction Ivar was sweeping, ghosting over the prone form of her best friend. Seemingly unimpressed, his eyes found Ivar’s once more.

            “You call this a win, Ivar?” Jace scoffed, shaking his head a little, “Odin is not impressed. He _couldn’t_ be; you fought a boy! A useless, Christian _boy!”_

            “Hey!” Clary spat before she could really think of the consequences, “That _boy_ happens to be my best friend and has more courage and honor in his pinky finger than all of you combined.”

            As the room fell silent, the realization that she had pulled all the attention back to her, make her clamped her mouth shut with an audible snap.

            “Some best friend if he can’t even save you from Ivar, here,” Jace smirked, his golden eyes finding her’s for the first time since he had made his appearance. She remained silent, not trusting her voice at the moment not to get her further into trouble.

            “I’m sick of all this talking,” Ivar barked, “I don’t give a rat’s ass what you or the god’s think. I’ll take what I want and what I claim is _mine_.”

            Clary felt the immediate disconnect that moment it happened. The moment her mind seemed to snap, separating itself from her body, unrepentant rage fueling her movement, the fear for her best friend, the yearning for the physical touch of her mother and father’s arms burning a fire in her that spurned her into action.

            With all that she had, Clary fisted her right hand tightly and swung her body to the side, feeling the crunch of bone as her fist collided with Ivar’s nose. The surprise overwhelmed the massive man, freeing her from his grasp, but she wasn’t done, not by a long shot. She shoved the now sputtering giant in the chest, using her rage like a physical force, propelling her forward. She was elated when Ivar’s huge balk fell backwards until he noisily fell to the floor. She was about to go after him when she felt iron bands around her, pulling her father away from her intended target, a familiar laugh in her ear. _Ragnar._

            “You did say you liked them feisty, Ivar,” he sang, watching his friend sit up nursing a clearly broken nose.

            Clary ignored Ragnar’s steel grasp as she made to move towards the brute again, he was the single focus of her rage at the moment, nothing else couldn’t penetrate her thoughts.

            “You bitch,” Ivar seethed, the crunch of his nose being forced back into place making her stomach turn, but she pushed that feeling down, letting the sweet feeling of pride at doing some damage wash over her.

            “I may be a bitch,” Clary countered, “But there is no way in hell I will _ever_ belong to you.” She had to forcibly restrain herself from sticking her tongue out at the Viking, wanting to keep her air of violence in tact, such childishness would ruin her whole façade.

            She didn’t have to try long as a deep laugh penetrated her ears, “I guess she told you, Ivar.” _Jace, that mother-_

“Would you just shut up already, you egotistical bastard,” she yelled, focusing her narrowed eyes on him, “Or do you just like the sound of your own god damn voice?”

            “Damn, I like her a lot,” the only other female in the room, said. Clary had almost forgot about her and the other dark haired male in the room, they hadn’t said a word since they arrived, seemingly letting Jace do all the talking.

            Clary eyed her now that she had captured her attention. The young girl was very beautiful maybe a year older than Clary herself, but she carried herself with the self-esteem of a woman double their age. Her smile was genuine enough as she gazed back at Clary with her own blue eyes. Perhaps in another life, she and Clary could have been friends.

            “Well, I barely know you lady,” she said slowly, “and so just by association with _him,_ I’m inclined not to like you either.” She was answered with an amused lift of the other woman’s eyebrow, but she remained silence. It was Jace who broke the silence. _Typical._

            “Well, I like you Red,” he commented as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “You’re coming with us.” He turned on his heel as if no one would argue with him and if that’s what he truly thought, then he wouldn’t _like_ her for long.

            “Excuse me,” she said, trying to keep the dumbfoundedness from her voice, hanging on to the very real anger gripping her, “I’m wont be going _anywhere_ with you, willingly.”

            The boy named Jace turned to her, a curious glance of her not-so-threatening form raking over her, “That can be arranged.”

His eyes flicked to Ragnar who still had a hold of the little spit fire and turned on his heel once more.

            Fury that this _boy_ would turn away from her, _yet again,_ and forgetting about the very large male gripping her, Clary made to run after him, no doubt to give him a piece of her mind if he thought-

            She didn’t get to finish that thought as a pressure was felt against a very sensitive spot on her neck. She briefly remembered a lesson in pressure points as her vision narrowed, a deafening blackness closing in on her until all she felt was oblivion.

           

           

            “By the god’s,” Alec muttered, finally breaking his silence, “I didn’t think she was every going to shut up.” He watched as the young woman’s body was bodily thrown over Ragnar’s large shoulder as the giant walked their way.

            “Are you sure bringing her with us is a good idea, Jace,” he asked, coming to step beside Jace’s form as he took in their surroundings, no doubt planning their escape. He had gotten what he came for he supposed; now it was time to go.

            “It’s probably a really bad idea,” he agreed before fixing his eyes on Alec’s, a knowing grin on his face, “But won’t it just piss her off?”           

            Alec raked his hands tiredly over his face, the tiredness from the whole day’s events finally sinking into his bones, “Jace—“

            But he was unable to voice any reason in the younger male when Jace immediately walked around him. Turning to see what had caught his attention, Alec’s eyes immediately fell on his sister’s kneeled body next to the kid who had fought Ivar.

            “Is he dead?” Alec heard Jace asked, his voice not masking his indifference, “Perhaps he wishes he was if he is not.”

            Ignoring Jace’s barb, Izzy ran her hands through Simon’s dark brown hair, her eyes searching for something that Alec couldn’t exactly place. He had an uneasy feeling growing in his stomach. He knew that unnamed look in his sister’s eyes.

            “You couldn’t even kill him, Ivar,” Jace teased, looking around to the silent mass of rage just feet from them.

            “I hadn’t gotten to that part yet,” he spat, “I wanted him to watch me fuck the bitch first.” He looked over at Clary’s still form and spit the blood that had pooled from his nose into his mouth in her direction.

            Alec felt more than saw Jace’s physical restraint next to him. He could sense the growing stillness in his friend, his brother and when Jace became still, he became dangerous. What was it about this girl that brought this out in him, he wondered.

            “We’re leaving,” were the only reply that came from the younger male before he turned towards Izzy, expecting her to obey his insinuated command for her to leave the body.

            Without looking up, Izzy’s strong voice filtered through the air, “I’m bringing the boy with us.” She immediately began to hoist the boy into her strong arms, ignoring the disapproving looks from her brothers.

            “Absolutely not,” Jace breathed.

            “Izzy,” Alec warned.

            “He was willing to lay down his life for the girl,” she argued, “and Odin has seen fit to spare his life. I wish to know more about him.”

            “I won’t allow it,” Jace growled, his eyes narrowing in the lifeless form in his adoptive sister’s embrace.

            “I choose him,” her own growl in her voice, as she stared defiantly back at Jace. _Damn her for their stubbornness,_ Alec thought.

            Jace was quiet as he gazed into Izzy’s eyes. For what seemed like an eternity they waited. Then, as if coming to a decision, Alec saw the brief relaxation of his adoptive brother shoulders.

            “Fine,” he muttered, “But he’s your responsibility, Iz. If he dies, you’ll burry his body _alone.”_ He motioned for Ivar to take Simon’s body from Izzy’s, which earned him a glare from his subordinate, but in the end, Ivar knew that Jace was the commanding officer and so he obeyed.

“He won’t die,” she responded, letting a very irate Ivar take the body from her awkward grasp.

            Jace grunted as he turned to survey the rest of the area around him, his eyes once again connecting with the slumped form of his redhead over Ragnar’s shoulder. Izzy was right, she was very beautiful, but she was never as beautiful as when he brilliant green eyes were trained on him, all her passion and fire aimed directly at him. He felt something shift in his chest, almost making the breath catch in his throat and the unwavering thought that he couldn’t wait until she woke up again. If not only to see her face as she realized he had her right where he wanted her, but to have her fire burn him from within.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! How was that, guys? Let me know what you think. How do you think Clary will react being kidnapped by the aggravatingly handsome, viking Jace? How will Clary's presence in Jace's life undoubtedly turn it all upside down? And what do you think Sebatian's reaction will be when Clary is stolen out from under his nose. I'm sure he'll admit defeat and mourn her loss, don't you? Doubt it. Sound off in the comments with your theories! Love you all!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I want to thank each and every one of you who have continued to show an interest in this story. Please know that I value each and everyone of you as your endow me with beautiful words of encouragement as well as your unbridled excitement for what comes next in this journey we have dared to walk together.
> 
> Secondly, I am sorry that it has taken me this long to update. I won’t bore you with the usual excuses and complaints, but I will tell you that this story is never far from my mind. Perhaps my biggest obstacle was in knowing where I wanted to take the story, but not necessarily having the discipline to properly turn it from casual thoughts in my head to actual words on my computer screen.
> 
> Thirdly and, before I become longwinded, lastly, when I was originally drafting this chapter, the content that you’re about to read was two things- a lot shorter in length and (allowing for more of the story to be told) and most definitely, not as darkly themed. I actually surprised myself with this chapter and hope that it doesn’t put anyone off from the story in general. The depth of detail I go into the chapter, and taking on the darker themes of the content, really got away from me. Its kind of an unusual writing style for me, but I just want you all to be away- especially when the font is italicized. PLEASE read your own risk. I do not wish to unknowingly trigger any body with my writing, so please take this as my way of telling you to proceed with caution. 
> 
> However, that being said, the next chapter will for sure be 10x lighter in content while still maintaining the sense of adventure and mystery we all come to read when we escape into the world of fanfiction, so just bare with me.
> 
> Please, as always share your thoughts in the review section. Affirmation is my love language, so I grave to know the good, the bad and the ugly, as long as said ugly is constructive, this is a bullying free zone!
> 
> With all my love and possibly a shy smile thrown in for what you’re about to read,  
> Happy reading!

 

 

 

_My name is Magnus Bane, Seer of the old gods and the new._

_I see what the gods allow me to see and feel what they allow me to feel. Men and women make the long and arduous journey to my doorstep in hopes that the gods will show favor on them, promising their futures with victories in battle, or the healthy births of strapping baby boys, but either way, the wanderers never seek the answers to the presence, which is how our stories are told- in the present._

_Perhaps it is the wavering uncertainty of the future that draws the attention of those that seek there answers, perhaps it is the thought we believe we already know all that there is to know if the present, that keeps us from focusing the path we currently find ourselves. All I know is that the gods have seen fit to show me our Present, the here and now, and I am shaken. Never before have a seen such travesty in my nearly centuries worth of memories, yet here I stand, begging you to head my warning as to tread cautiously through the tales ahead as we wade through the waters of betrayal and death._

_Sometimes my Sight is a curse, my eyes made to See what other do not, could not see. Sometimes the cruelty for which I am made to suffer, the games the gods force me to play, are so heinous, so vile that I wonder if the gods think me a mere child’s plaything. A being completely malleable, forced to cruelly bend in the most unnatural ways, yet otherwise durable, centuries worth of resilience able to remake myself, physically and mentally just as I was before._

_You would think that this ability would be a gift, but in fact, it was also a curse, for it allowed the gods to snatch me within the sharpness of their claws, digging into the very fabric of my soul again and again. Nearly a hundred years of their molestation of my body, my mind, buried deep within my psyche._

_There were moments when the time between occurrences would span a decade or two, the gods seemingly moving on in one form or another, whether it be in the Silence, or their abundance of inconsequential sights into the future. But just as he began to lower his guard, perhaps daring to hope that their talons were as buried beneath his skin as they once were, he was again ripped from his faux safety._

_He could almost hear the amusing laughter of the gods, stringing their favorite puppet along, only a light jarring to dust him off, before he would once again be propped up on their ethereal stage. My screams of agony would be heard as songs and ballads, the cruel twisting and breaking of my body and mind dances and beautiful displays in which the mortal body should and should not bend._

_Their games of torture and humiliation cost me greatly, both physically and mentally, as their sick minds grew aroused with every force of dominance against the lesser creature, a potent aphrodisiac at the least._

_I wonder momentarily if there isn’t one being, one who looks upon my quivering mass of flesh beneath their torment as they laugh as my body convulses, fighting itself to purge the liquid fire being forcibly poured behind my melting eyelids._

_I’m begging, if there is but one of you who looks upon your ever-faithful servant and see’s the injustice, please, spare me this unjustified punishment. Surely you are not all pleased with the senseless torture and humiliation of your chosen conduit on Earth? If there is but one, shield me from my personal torment, I beg of you!_

_Silence._

_I am Alone._

_I am Afraid._

_Today is different from all the other. The gods, in their silence, have turned their backs on their favorite form of amusement, for what I cannot See. For once, my pain and suffering is not the source of their manipulation and craving._

_With this bit of knowledge, I find what little capability my addled brain has for even a minute ability to think outside the agonizing pain, I also feel fear. Not the familiar fear of what I have endured for most of my life, but the fear of the unknown. For if the gods are not behind this torment, who or what has me in its clutches?_

_My voice grows hoarse from the curses I slew from my lips in names of the gods, each and everyone of them. How dare they turn their backs on me! How dare they forsaken me to this unknown force, pulling at my insides as if tethers of ropes were pulling at me from opposite sides._

_My eyes are beginning to bleed with the tears from the visions of the fallen and the dying as their broken and lifeless bodies plague my mind, one evil apparition at a time. My head threatens to burst with the pressure of the wailing and the calling out to any deity out there willing to listen to the endless prayers begging to spare ones life or to end it all the same._

_I’m gasping for my own life, the air moving through my lungs just as a sharpened saw moves against a great, white oak tree, the wood dusting coating my throat, choking me from the outside in and it is all I can do to not collapse under the strain._

_I am Alone._

_I am Afraid._

_But I do not falter, never do I falter._

_For I see what the gods allow me to see and feel as they allow me to feel and if I forced to suffer the consequences of such a gift, such a curse, then I must also believe that there is also an equal or a greater purpose behind it all._

_Sucking in a painful bit of air, I grit my chattering teeth and focus on my inner eye, forcing myself to open up to the pain and suffering I am feeling, hoping to find the meaning of it all, but all I find is a void, a greatness so unless any other, that it threatens to suck me in and to never let me go._

_The gods have left me on my own and in so doing, my inner eye searches for something, anything to gain a foothold in the great abyss, but there is nothing, just cold, darkness. I can feel my inner mind curling in on itself, the weight of the vast darkness so immense, it threatens to crush my bones into the very dust for which they originally came. I await the sound of my dying scream, but the crushing blackness swallows it just as it leaves my lips, Silent. Always Silent._

_And then, I feel it, an ache so raw, so pure, it threatens to steal the life right out of me, my breath freezing in my otherwise heaving chest, I can feel the light of my soul in my eyes dimming, swallowing me up further into the darkness._

_I try to hold on, to latch on to something, anything to keep me from the looming darkness. My mind continues to fight a battle it knows it will lose, but as surely as an animal is driven by its instincts to live, my mind will demonstrate the same amount of resilience when being forced to fight for its right to survive._

_This cannot be the end. Not here, not now, when I have so many unanswered questions. Even as I begin to feel a physical manifestation, pulling me towards the abyss, my brain continues to fight. Even when the last of my reserved air in my lungs is forcibly pulled from me, I fight._

_But it is not enough. Soon I am falling. Where to and how, I am not certain, but it is just as well._

_Death, you are a welcomed friend, a savior of sorts. Pull me from my wicked and tortuous imprisonment; send me to the gates of Valhalla where I shall truly find rest and not this agonizing humiliation._

_Are you there? Will you not put me out of my misery, old friend?_

_I am Alone._

_I am Afraid._

_Perhaps I was right in thinking the gods think me a mere fool for the pleasure, yanking the chain of their favorite pet seer over the dangerous fires below, threatening to split his mind into madness._

_Is this what immortality and immeasurable power turned one into? A sadistic and cruel individual whose arousal lusted after the dominance of a weaker creature at their wicked disposal?_

_Well, fuck them! Fuck the gods, the old and the new! Fuck them all!_

_I began to feel my consciousness begin to lift me from my dreamlike state, the aching void once again seeping into my bones and I resign my self for the same cruel fate I endured only moments ago._

_But it never comes._

_I risk opening my inner eye out into the ether, searching for the source of so much turmoil that it threatens to crush any and all things in its vicinity, even down to the tiniest atom. For I see what the gods allow me to see and feel as they allow me to feel and even though my body aches for the absolution in death, my journey is far from over- I can feel it, just as surely as I feel everything else around me._

_A movement so small, so fleeting as a swirl of wind, captures the intense focus of my mind’s eye- eager for something, anything to hold on to. In the distance I see what can only be described as a movement of molecules, a shimmering of sorts along the bleakness. I briefly wonder how it is that I missed such a hauntingly beautiful sight beforehand, but then a sense of immense power halts my thoughts. Perhaps this thing, this_ being _has only just allowed me to see it._

_The knowledge threatens to double me over, spilling the meek contents of my physical body onto the floor beneath me, but I hold firm, my own turmoil of emotions immobilizing me both on the physical and mental plain._

_I feel a wave of power once more push right through me, this one stronger than the last and I know it is but a taste of the real power this entity holds and I buckle. The stinging of my physical knees hitting the floor jarring be out of my thoughts once more, honing my inner eye to see what this being is wanting me to see._

Show me, _I plead with it,_ Show me what it is you want me to See.

_Another wave crashes into me, sending me on all fours, my back arching with the shock of unprecedented power gripping me in its hooks… and I finally understand._

_Its Him._

_The Christian God._

_The one they all talk about. The one that strikes fear in the hearts of men and women alike, the one whose name sends the very Devil quivering in the darkest reaches of hell._

_I bow my head low to the ground, unable to bring my eyes upon such a presence, the mere thought of being in the same space, the same realm as such a powerful being nearly sending my mind back down the looming abyss._

_I shut my physical and inner eyes, begging to be set free from this hell, that I am unworthy of such a gift as to See what no other mortal hath seen before._

_But my release never comes, it’s as if the very wish is but, a wish that will not be granted, not a moment before those much more stronger than me deem it time._

_And so I wait, but not for long, for I start to felt a sort of psychic echo in my mind, an unheard voice in my own head, beckoning me to open my eyes once more, and so I did. Gently, oh so gently, weary of the unsettling vastness of nothing I was about to subject myself to once more._

_However, when my inner eye focused on the blackness just before me, I felt a jolt to my solar plexus as the picture forming before my unbelieving eyes turned my inquisitiveness curiosity to utter devastation._

_I wasn’t looking at the God of the formidable Abraham, Isaac, Jacob or Moses, but I was looking at the Creator. A Creator of worlds, of men and women alike, whose soul had been ripped to shred under the devastation befalling His people. He was a Father, hearing the whispered prayers of the broken, the wailing cries of the forsaken calling out to him in their hour of need._

_He allows me a brief glimpse of the future, the devastation the Present will have in the days, the weeks, the years to come if we do not deviate from this path. I focused once more the rich, the poor, the weak and the old, calling out for their Creator, who did not heed their call._

_I didn’t understand. Why not answer their cries for help? For what was the use of his immense power if not to be used when the very creations he held most dear called out his name in pain and suffering? Perhaps all gods were selective when it came to performing miracles. Perhaps the mind of a god was something that us mere mortals were never willing to understand, not in this life anyways._

_I am trapped here, a mere conduit between immortal giants and the chaos driven mortals, forced to endure the Sight, a gift and a curse given to me by those who twist and intertwine our very fates as they see fit- herding us like lazily driven cattle onto one path or another, prodding us with the whips of faux approval and the promise of a better future._

_And yet, we believe the lies as we blindly follow their commands, their every whims are life’s pursuits, searching for their approval, bending over backwards to gain their favor as they lead us to the slaughter. They dine and feast on our carcasses as we waste away into the very dirt in which we were conceived. Picking their teeth with the bones of our broken backs, praying hands and misshapen feet, all in their service for the miniscule moment of time we are allowed to roam in their world._

_How easy it is we make it for them to plump us up, ripe for the picking, our blood seared with the taste of false righteousness, our bones dipped in the waters of betrayal and lust. The fill our heads with the sense of control and having a hand in our own fates, while they laugh at us and taunt us from above, planning their next course._

_And yet, I find myself still between worlds, a messenger of sorts, a vigilante seer trying to find even an ounce of sense in it all. I am afraid I will be left waiting in this dark abyss for longer than my bones can carry me in this lifetime, and maybe in the next…_

_But I carry on. I must always carry on…_

_For I am Magnus Bane, Seer of the gods, the old and the new, and I see what the gods allow me to see and feel as they allow me to feel. And in this horrifying hour, I See only one thing- the pain, the suffering- it has only just begun._

_The gods have forsaken us. They’ve turned their back on us, proving to us that we know nothing past the swords in which we so desperately cling to._

_For once, my eyes do not wish to see the coming days- for what is to come- because what we are about to face may prove to be the single most important crucible of our lifetime, but there are two things for which I am certain._

_We are Alone. And…_

_We should be very Afraid._

 

 

_~*~*~*~*~_

 

_Alone._

_Afraid._

Those were the faces of the many he passed as he strode, sure footed, through the corridors of the once vibrant hall of the formidable castle. The wounded and the dying reached for him with their weak and bloodied hands, begging for the passerby to help staunch there bleeding, or to merely offer them a life saving drink of water.

 

However, the shadowy figure had no use for their mangled and broken bodies and so he kicked at their outstretched hands, snarling at them with his hateful words as he hastened his pace forward, towards the only one he did have use for, a very physical use for anyway.

 

Feeling a smirk form across his face, Sebastian pictured the very willful and cunning woman laying in wait for him just on the other side of the castle. She, no doubt, would take a considerable amount of his patience and attentiveness if he ever desired her to only and truly his.

 

He wasn’t fooled into thinking that she would give up so easily, no. Even in his fast moving mind, often multitasking in his pursuits realized that this particular endeavor would require a different sort of finesse than he was used to.

 

Yes, Clarissa would prove to be a most impressive opponent. The ones that challenged you, made you work for every scrap of winnings usually made for the best prize of all.

 

Sebastian took a moment to look at his surroundings, most of the bodies strewn in this section of the hall were dead, their eyes opening and unseeing. He took in the smell of death around him, the rotting and already decaying bodies in through his nose, exhaling with a deep contented sigh. This is what victory looked like- red painted walls and floors with the blood of your enemies, their bodies strewn everywhere, mere filth rotting under your feet as your boot crushed their withering bones into the stone flooring beneath their lifeless bodies.

 

He can still hearing the echoing wails of the people a few corridors back, the sound of the living, wounded and dying alike mourning the loss of seemingly endless night. It’s a beautiful sound, really, the sound of souls crying out in torment as the light of their loved ones vanishes into nothingness. The sounds of the hopelessness, helplessness culminating to forming a melody of pure despair that reaches his ears like a warm caress.

 

Let them weep for those who have gone from the world, he thought, let them mourn the dead in their naïveté. For in the morning a new dynasty shall rise, the Morgenstern dynasty and they will know that it is not the dead they should mourn, but the living.

 

Morgensterns lead with an iron grip, demanding loyalty above all else, the consequences of disobedience too severe to print. He will not tolerate insubordination, not from anyone, not even his lovely bride-to-be.

 

Focusing once again on the young woman who plagued his every thoughts since her was fifteen years old, he felt the burgeoning hardening of his arousal through his pants, the tightening forcing him to shift himself around in order continue to walk straight. However, he jokingly thought, at this rate, he’d have to relieve himself before he even made it back to the princess, which would ultimately ruin his plans to make her his as soon as he got his hands on her and nothing, nothing, was going to stop him this time.

 

His mind swirled with thoughts of the trapped little bird inside her cage, fluttering around the room as she anxiously awaited his return, hoping he would set her free in search of her loved ones.

 

How wrong she was. She would be lucky if he let her out of his sight, let alone there marital bed in the next week…at least.

 

Perhaps she had tired herself out enough in her worrying, and no doubt attempt to escape, that she had retired her small, weary form upon the bed he had originally deposited her earlier. He imagined her body lying across the coverlet, her hands folded across her the small, flat plane of her stomach, her eyelids shut against her cheeks as her face, the beauty of an angel, slept on in peace.

 

As much as he would love to find her in such a vulnerable state when he approached her, he knew his Clarissa better than that. The odds were more likely to see the young, willful sprite laying in wait for him to enter unaware as she charged him with some sort of hand-made weapon.

 

Yes, that was more his princess’ style.

 

Either way, he’d get what he wanted from the young hellion, her cooperation was not needed, just suggested for her pleasure, not his. He’d enjoy making her his lover whether she was screaming in ecstasy or fear. Either way, he would win. He always won when it came to getting what he wanted and Clarissa Garroway was at the top of that very exclusive list.

 

There was no escape for his beautiful captive. Not now, not ever. She was his, now and forever.

 

Sebastian was not above using blackmail or unveiled threats that were at his disposal. At this very moment, he knew he held two people in his grasp that he could undoubtedly use to bend Clarissa to his will.

 

This was why love was such a useless emotion, Sebastian reminded himself. The only thing it gave you was something for your enemies to use against you. It made you weak and Sebastian Morgenstern was not weak, not for anybody.

 

Clarissa could physically fight him or use her words to hurt him, but at the end of the day she would surrender to his every whim, his every pleasure if it meant her mother and father would see no harm. Sebastian planned on using that piece of knowledge to do his bidding, knowing that the circumstances surrounding the predicament regarding her parents would certainly galvanize her into action, but he surmised that what little Clarissa Garroway didn’t know, would certainly not hurt her.

 

His mind once again ran away with his thoughts as he pictured the many ways he would assert his dominance over his new lover. His mouth watered at the ways he intended to test the strength and resilience of her smaller body, hoping that her virginal status would survive the barely contained hunger for her innocence.

 

He wanted to bend her in so many ways, physical and emotionally, molding and manipulating her to serve in heightening his pleasure as he took from her what he could and more. Always more.

 

He wanted to test her boundaries of her youthful and pliant body, picking and prodding at the delicateness of her unmarked skin, testing the strain he could put on her in both pain and pleasure before she fractured. He wanted to know what made her moan in pleasure, gasp in shocked arousal, scream in pain and pleasure.

 

He craved for her to be a willing lover in his bed, but Sebastian was just as content as to have her as his whore, a plaything designed to pleasure himself with when he saw fit and occasionally bore him a son or two. That decision would be up to her, perhaps the only choice he would willingly allow her to make in their relationship because, as he saw it, no matter which way she decided, he still got her where he wanted her- under him.

 

Sebastian moaned as his growing cock pressed eagerly against the cotton confines of his pants, his growing arousal begging for release from its soft prison. Slowing his pace to a stop just around the corner of the room where the object of his infatuation lie, Sebastian allowed him a few precious moments to stroke himself through his pants, wanting to be ready at a moment’s notice to pierce himself through the wet and waiting folds of his dear, awaiting bride.

 

A few strokes and an angrily weeping cock later, Sebastian righted himself from the wall and proceeded around the corner coming to a rather abrupt halt at the disheveled mess before him.

 

Sebastian took a moment to blink away his surprise, something that he was reluctant to admit, he hated surprises, quickly brought himself to the now obliterated door that once held his most prized possession.

 

Stepping through the couch-sized hole in the still shut doors of the forgotten bedroom, Sebastian swept the apparently empty room, devouring every inch of its space with his predatory eyes.

 

In a fit of pure anger, Sebastian unsheathed his sword and laid waist to the scarce bit of furniture unlucky to be in the path of the weapon he wielded. It wasn’t until most of the wood, chopped small enough for kindling, laid at his feet that he allowed himself a couple of relaxing and calming breaths.

 

“So the little birdie has taken flight,” he mused out loud, allowing the heavy sound of his footsteps to carry him further into the room. Taking a seat on the bed, he smiled as the forming of a new plan began to populate in his head.

 

“I guess its time that the predator to give way for the hunt,” he smirked, caressing the very evident bulge in his pants- his arousal making a very mean and demanding reappearance. He had to admit, the thrill of the chase was arousing, the fear of the hunted as she realized the predator was closing in on her, the look of defeat when he once again had her in his clutches and thrill of devouring his prey once he had her all to himself.

 

He’d give his elusive prey a small leash to hang herself with, allowing her to believe she had freed herself from her fate, fled the temporary cage he had stuffed her in, but when he decided that the hunt was on, she would understand what it meant to be pursued by a predator so lethal, so focused, that it would provide the basis for nightmare for years to come.

 

Satisfied with the minutes he was allowing his prey to get the head start she craved, Sebastian allowed himself to dabble in a little self-pleasure before the main event.

 

Unfastening the confines of his cotton pants, his erect cock springing from his imprisonment, Sebastian fantasized about how he would punish the little bird’s disobedience, her actions sealing her fate and those of her harsh punishment to come.

 

Sebastian let his eyelids close, his hand stroking languidly down the soft velvet sheath of his cock, gripping the hot steel of his arousal as a beautiful picture started forming in his mind…

 

 

_Sebastian stood at the doorway to his bedchamber, a chalice of the finest wine in the kingdom at his lips, drinking in the cool liquid and the amusingly arousing site on his bed. He leaned against the doorframe, his sleek and stroke shoulder supporting his body as his legs crossed at the ankles, content to just watch the withering girl, gagged and bound on his bed._

_Even in the eleventh hour, the unaware damsel continued to wrestle herself against the coverlet, her petite frame sliding sensuously against the sheets, providing an erotic display of sexual prowess in such a young and nubile body._

_Sebastian chuckled to himself at her stubbornness to set herself free, but there was no escape. Not for her, not ever. He had won this little battle of theirs and so it was his time to reap that reward, whether she was a willing participant or not._

_Still, he couldn’t seem to move his body an inch closer to her’s as if the mere sensual sway of her wiggling hips rendered him temporarily immobilized and so he allowed himself another moment to just watch the unsuspecting girl. Voyeurism, after all, was one of his favorite hobbies._

_A small whimper caught his attention as she unwittingly tightened the bonds that held her in place. It was such a delicious conundrum for his little birdie- to give up on her escape, therefor lessening the tightening of the bonds, was to also concede, to surrender, to her fate._

_Pleasuring in the knowledge that her fate was sealed, had been since they first met, Sebastian found the inner strength to finally detach himself from the room’s doorway. Walking the last few remaining yards of space between them, Sebastian drank down the last of the smooth liquid in his cup, throwing the now empty chalice behind him in earnest to have his hands completely free of any and all objects._

_The sound of the cup hitting the stone floor, coupled with the sound of approaching footfalls had the withering, young woman still almost immediately, every muscle in her body freezing in place as the hairs on the back of her neck rose in the presence of a very real predatory stalking up to her._

_In her nakedness, the vulnerability of such a state almost overwhelming her, the young girl tried to curl in on herself, protecting what little body mass was exposed to the hungry gaze of the breathing monster looming above her._

_Sebastian smiled as the young woman tried to hide her nakedness from his view, but he would see every inch of that beautiful body, every inch of glowing white skin, every strand of fiery red hair decorating her otherwise unmarked skin._

_Sebastian’s knees brushed the edge of the bed, alerting the female to his very nearness, the slight jostling of her body a teasing of sorts from a predatory to its trapped prey. It was a cruel taunting, but one he enjoyed, forcing her to realize that she was very much in his grasp and at his mercy, no ending of her personal nightmare in sight._

_Letting his eyes trace over the smoothness of the young woman’s back, the curve of her spine deliciously curving outwards to reveal the rounded mounds of her firm buttocks sent jolts of electricity straight to his aching cock, which he firmly pressed against the edge of the bed. Moaning, as the pressure against his cock sent teasing shivers of pleasure through his system, he smiled once more down at the figured huddled in a small ball in the center of his bed._

_“Clarissa,” Sebastian finally spoke, her name a sensual demand from his lips, “I will not tolerate you hiding yourself from me.”_

_In her insistence of staying just so, in a huff of frustration, Sebastian bent over the side of the bed, grabbing the bonds that held the girl in place, dragging the weightless girl across the sheets, on her back, until her hip bumped against his very erect penis._

_“That’s better,” he cooed cupping her cheek in his hand as his thumb rubbed in small circles, “Let me look at you as a husband has the right to view his wife’s body at his leisure.”_

_Hardened, green eyes found his and the pure contempt in them did not disappoint. If that very fire, which he was looking into, ever chose to physically manifest, he knew that he stood no chance against its power._

_However, that sort of magic didn’t exist in their world and she was very much under his control and so he only gazed down at her with amusement at her frosty attitude._

_“There she is,” he teased, “I was beginning to think I was going to have to start the fun without you. Tell me, lover, are you happy to see me?”_

_The muddled sounds coming from the maiden’s mouth were surely the unprintable kind, but he simply stared at her as she struggled once more in the bonds, eager to get her small hands his throat. However, he imagined breath play was still a little too much out of their wheelhouse for the first couple of months of their sexual relationship. He was an animal in bed, but even he understood the necessary step in training someone to be a valuable mate in bed._

_“I hope you don’t mind the extra accommodations, Clarissa,” Sebastian smirked, trailing his fingertips along the bonds that held her in place, “Your unwillingness to cooperate in our coupling has forced me to bring other means of restraint into our marital bed. However, once I have your unyielding loyalty, I assure you these restraints can be used for far better, more pleasurable pursuits.”_

_The mumbled growl behind the gag didn’t go unnoticed by Sebastian’s sensitive hearing; he actually smiled down at her, unwilling to let her uncooperativeness dissuade him from his good mood._

_“Clarissa, if you insist on talking dirty in the bedroom,” he teased, running his fingertips over her parted lips, “please save it for the foreplay, which I suppose can started with your very intriguing show you put on for me mere moments ago.”_

_Clary’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion and Sebastian smiled wickedly, “Ya, I watched you, little birdie, as you flapped your wings, struggling to free yourself from your bonds… from me. Knowing that no matter how hard you tried, how determined you set yourself up to be, that there was no escape for you beyond my grasp was the biggest turn on.”_

_Sebastian grabbed his bobbing erection through the cotton of his pants, noticing the way Clarissa’s eyes followed his abrupt movement as if there was an invisible rope between his hands and the pupils of her eyes. He watched as said pupils dilated, in both fear and unwilling arousal as he caressed himself in front of her._

_“Oh yes, little birdie,” he moaned, feeling the wetness of his precum soak through the confines of his pants, “This is all for you. For you to hold, to stroke, to suck, to pleasure in any way I command. Every day of your naturally long life will be in the service of this cock, do you understand?”_

_“No,” Clary muffled behind the gag, shaking her head furiously in the negative. She proceeded to wiggle her frame in a desperate attempt to place a greater distance between her and the very daunting and terrifying realization of her sealed fate, to forever be the on the receiving end of his pleasure. He didn’t let her go far, she would never again feel what it was like to be free. She would forever be chained to his side, constantly reminded of her duty to him as his wife, his unwilling lover, his royal whore._

_His eyes sparkled with glee as he dragged her retreating form back to him, in a slow and teasing pace, smiling down at her when the very real fear in her eyes made her pupils blow so wide, they near encapsulated the greenness of her eyes._

_“That’s the last time you’ll ever run away from me, lover,” Sebastian whispered, his nose nearly brushing against hers as he climbed the bed, resting his frame just above her’s, “Never again will you keep from me what is rightly mine to take, to have and to use until I say we’re done.”_

_The little insolent whore began to struggle in earnest once more, testing his patience to not simply ram his weeping cock into virginal body, but he had other means of making her obey._

_“That’s enough!” he commanded, poking a sharpened knife just below the woman’s carotid artery, “You will do as I say or we will see if the little birdie bleeds red.”_

_The young woman stared into his eyes, undoubtedly sizing up her opponent and his willingness to go through with his threats. Sebastian was not above carving her up a bit, not in a way that would prevent him from pleasuring himself, but in a way that would force her to submit him._

_However, if by the way her smaller body suddenly began to relax beneath his own, he surmised that she believed that he was just sadistic enough to carry out the very real threat._

_“That’s a good girl, Clarissa,” he murmured, trailing the flattened edge of the knife down the column of her neck, “Your cooperation is for your benefit alone, not mine. Whether you give yourself to me willing or unwillingly is up to you, my pleasure will come either way. It is for you to decide if you wish to follow me in that pleasure, if I so choose to share in the fun.”_

_“I can make it pleasurable for you too, you know,” he said conversationally as he trailed the blade along her skin, content to watch the peppering of goose bumps form in the wake of the coolness of the blade. He was particularly intrigued in the way her nipple became aroused as the knife delicately teased its sensitive nerve endings._

_Wanting to feel the weight of her arousing breast, Sebastian cupped her aching mound in his hand, delighted in the way it sat perfectly in the palm of his hand, his long, thin fingers manipulating the pound of flesh in his hands to his enjoyment. He tweaked her budding nipple between his fingers, the mangled sound of her muffled moan making his hips buck into hers as a jolt of lightening hit his cock._

_“Fuck,” he breathed, slowly the sensual massaging of her breast, “The things I can make this body do, pulling every reaction I desire with just the flick of my wrist, or the twist of my hips…”_

_He ground his hips against her own, delighting in the strangled gasp he pulled from her lips, not missing the way she bit down on them, hoping to stifle her own treacherous responses to his manipulation of her body._

_“As I said before, lover,” Sebastian reminded her, “Your cooperativeness is up to you, but I always get what I want in the end.”_

_He let his words and their meaning sink into her beautiful green orbs as his hand began to map the single curve of her left hip, his palm washing over the flat plane of her abdomen. He allowed himself the brief pleasure of feeling her withering body beneath him as he teased the sensitive flesh of her naval before he lowered his searching hand for the real prize._

_Letting her aroused gasp wash over him as he cupped the dampening folds between her legs, Sebastian buried his head in between her neck and shoulder, the temptation to take her all at once, hard and fast, nearly galvanizing him into action. But years and years of fantasizing about this very night, kept himself in check, his steel discipline over his body, allowing him to gain the much-needed control over his actions going forward._

_“Before I force you to take my cock, fast and hard,” he whispered sensuously in her ear, “There is work to be done in order to get you primed and ready. For instance,” he continues, running his fingers up and down the sensitive slit of her folds, guarding the entrance of her molten core, the juices of her forced arousal already coating his fingers, “I’m going to make sure that your cunt is so wet, so ready for penetration, that my cock will just be another welcomed piece of my flesh pumping into you.”_

_He heard the moan escape her lips as his words undoubtedly shot moisture through her core and he welcomed it, spearing his fingers through her folds in an attempt to catch every last drop of her juices on his fingers as her forced her to ride him in such an intimate way. Her hips began to move, whether she wanted them or not, her body recognizing this primal form of dancing, unable to distinguish whether the mind was willing and able or not._

_“That’s it, little birdie,” he cooed, as he rocked his fingers further and further into her heat, fly for me!”_

_“Oh God!” he heard her shout, the words muffled by her gag, but he heard the none-the-less._

_“That’s right, Clarissa,” Sebastian smiled, “I am your god- the only one to have the right to bury you in pain and pleasure, to use your body to soar to the tallest mountains or fall in the deepest crevices of sweet pleasure.”_

_“I want you to remember this night, Clariss,” he urged her, slowly his pace for a fraction of a second so her mind could focus on his words, “ I want you to remember that I took you because I wanted to, that all those who would oppose me are now under my control and that you belong to me.”_

_Spearing his fingers until even his knuckles were buried within her, Sebastian pumped his fingers slowly in and out of her tight canal, imagining how the tight warmth of her pussy would feel against his cock._

_“When I’m pushing my aching cock into your tight core, I want you to shout my name,” he rasped against her should, just the mere thought threatening to send him over the edge of early release, but his bit back his escalating release. Instead he sated himself with the brushing of his lips over the sensitive skin of her neck, trading between nips and licks along her collarbone as his fingers pleasured her weeping cunt._

_“I want this whole kingdom to hear your surrender to me, to only me, as only a bride can surrender to her husband,” he demanded, quickening the pace of his fingers as he pressed in on her throbbing clit with his thumb, “I want them all to know that you’re mine, that this whole kingdom is mine and all of you belong to me.”_

_“Yes,” he heard the sensual rasp of a female voice below him. He felt her petite body rise off the mattress, long enough to press into his angry, weeping cock as she stretched to find purchase for her fast approaching climax._

_“Say it,” Sebastian commanded, his eyes honing in one her’s, as the daziness of arousal coated her otherwise sharp, green eyes._

_“I belong to you,” she whimpered, he could feel she was on the precipice and so he pressed his thumb against the bulging nub of her clit, sending her spiraling over the cliff, rivers of juice flowing down his hand as he continued to milk her shaking body._

_“That’s right,” Sebastian cooed, as her body finally came down from her forced high, aftershocks of the orgasm still sending jolts of pleasurable tingles through her skin, “And it will only ever be me.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to review this story, if you're still sticking around after that doozy of a chapter. Please do! We will get some good Clace shenanigans in part of the next chapter! Xoxox!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you devour this next chapter, I want to thank you all for baring with me in that last chapter. Wasn’t that sh*t dark af? I had to do a full body cleanse just to shake off the bad vibes. That being said, I thought the chapter was necessary to show the situation our characters find themselves in. 
> 
> Magnus’ turmoil with the god’s and the vision of the Christian God, while hyperbolic and symbolic, allowed him to see the very real danger their world was falling victim to in the present and could clearly foreshadow and even more dangerous future. 
> 
> Following that, we see the very nasty, malevolent spirit in Sebastian, perhaps giving us a face to place the blame on the earth’s current and future darkness, should he get his own way. Time will only tell if our heroes can truly win the game of Gods and Swords.
> 
> However, the present is not yet swallowed up into darkness, there are some areas of light mischief and humor that still surface from time to time and that is where we find ourselves in the lucky 13th chapter of this grand adventure. 
> 
> So, if I haven’t scared you off just yet, buckle up for a smoother, lighter ride as we dive once again into the fold.
> 
> Happy reading!

 

_She starts to feel something move along her skin, something cold, something scaly. She tries to move away, but it wraps its body around her’s like an icy trap, caging her in its grasp._

_Her eyes open to reveal the large head of a snake peering down at her, smiling having caught his prey. She feels a pull as the serpent brings her closer to him, his eyes devouring her nakedness in his possession. She turns her head away, disgusted as she feels the hot, sticky brand of his tongue slithering along her skin, marking her as his next meal._

_She wonders how long she will last against such a beast? Will his torment of her mind and body drive her to madness or will fate allow her the gift of a quick death? She doesn’t know. But what she does know is that she cannot let it end- not here, not now._

_The serpent watches on as the young girl struggles against her cage, her warm nakedness sliding against his coldness like an aphrodisiac. He tightens his hold on her, a silent reminder that there will be no escape for her, not ever._

_He delights in the slow stilling of her figure, the only movement beneath him the shallow gasps of her lungs working to pull air into her burning lungs. He recognizes the slow sagging of her once proud and determined shoulders as a sign of defeat and that makes his smile spread further. He’s won. Just as he always knew he would._

_He can taste her rising fear permeating the air around him, starting a fire deep within his belly. He can see the slight shudder of her lashes against her face as she resigns herself to her fate, knowing that she was truly at his mercy._

_His mouth waters with the images of feasting on her flesh for all eternity, taking her again and again as his own without the threat of interruption. He images what it will feel like slicing into her skin for the first time. The image of his sharpened fangs sliding through the warm skin of her inner thigh just as a knife cuts through butter is enough to tell him that his wait is over._

_The time is now to strike. He wonders how long she can survive him and the torment. She will not be allowed the mercy of a quick death; there will be no escape. All he knows it that it ends… now._

_*~*~*~*~*_

Clary’s eyes flick open in an instant, her senses on high alert as her mind slowly processes her surroundings. She feels the slight sway and weightlessness of being carried, by someone unfamiliar, the heavy footfalls beneath her not her own. She’s being held against a large chest, two iron bands beneath her shoulder blades and legs.

 

Lucid enough to know that the only element she has to her advantage would be that of surprise, Clary quickly takes a mental scan of her physical body, wanting a clear picture of what she had to work with. She knew she only had one shot of escape as she didn’t know where she was or where she was- that thought alone begging her to kick and scream at her captor.

 

Careful not to alert her jailor of her new conscious state, Clary went from head to toe checking her body for any wounds that may prevent her from making her escape. As far as she could tell, she hadn’t sustained any major injuries. She had a bit of a headache and her throat was insanely dry, but otherwise, she felt like she may have a shot if she played this right.

 

The dryness of her throat she immediately attested to the rough cloth that had been forced in her mouth while she was asleep, so the earlier appeal of her screaming for help was out of the question. Naturally, she went to bring her hands up to her face to relieve herself of the gag, but she quickly found that her hands had been tied together at the wrists. This was yet another disadvantage to her possibility of escape, but Clary Garroway, Princess of Northumbria, was no quitter!

 

Seeing as that any immediate escape was not in her near future, Clary resigned herself to think about her options. Flashes of memory started to form behind her eyes as she slowly started to remember the events that led up to her kidnapping.

 

She remembered Sebatian’s cryptic words about someone “being early,” and then being locked in a room at his hand. She became infuriated, thinking that it was Sebastian or his men that had kidnapped her, but then she remembered freeing herself of that imprisonment to search for her family.

 

Flashes of finding Simon, the immense relief of seeing her best friend unharmed were quickly shattered when she began to remember the events that quickly unfolded.

 

She remembered the heathen warriors that threatened her as they toyed with Simon. She’d begged him to leave her, to save himself, but her best friend stood by her, even when certain death was staring him straight in the eye.

 

She remembered the scream lodged in her throat as she watched Simon’s body fall to the ground, the Viking warrior having tired of this brand of entertainment. He had turned all his ugly attention on her and she had been sure that she had met her fate, but then a voice, like that of an avenging angel had stopped it all.

 

_Jace,_ she remembered, _that motherfuc—_

Clary was fuming. This was all his fault, that arrogant, extremely good-looking, but still a complete jerkoff’s fault. He thought that just because he had swooped in to save her like some mystical, avenging angel that he had a right to take her against her will.

 

_Well,_ she thought, _Sir Smirks-a-lot has another thing coming, right after I tell him to go to Hell!_

However badly Clary wanted to wipe the smirk off of Jace’s gorgeous face, she knew that her more immediate situation garnered her full attention. Clary had never been a patient person, her inability to focus on anything for too long always getting into trouble, she forced herself to push Jace’s smug face from her mind in order to form a plan for escape.

 

Clary turned her eyes up to gage her captors awareness of her state, but felt her blood run cold, her body going rigid as black, beaty eyes were staring down at her from above.

 

At the slight movement of his mouth into a smirk, Clary tried scrambling out of his arms, her sounds of protest against his tightening hold on her muffled by the gag still lodged in her mouth.

 

“You’ve been awful quiet, kitten,” the familiar, rough voice purred down at her, “I’m glad to see you finally decided to bring out the claws.”

 

_Kitten,_ the word sent a vicious tremor down her spine to the amusement of the very man who particular brand of pet names rang eerily familiar as well.

 

_Ivar._

Clary began shaking her head, renewing her struggle against the very man that might have killed her best friend, but it was no use as his larger formed closed in around her, chuckling at her useless attempts of escape.

 

“I’d settle down if I were you, Kitten,” he teased, tossing her in his grip to get a better hold on her, “You wouldn’t want to give me a reason to put you over my knee, would you?”

 

Clary instantly stilled her moments, self preservation at the forefront of her mind when dealing with the very real threats of the man, who moments ago, wanted to do her real harm. Still, she wouldn’t take his threats like the defenseless damsel he mistook her for.

 

Narrowing her eyes at him, Clary called his bluff, “You wouldn’t dare.”

 

Clary tried not to role her eyes at the way the gag distorted her words, taking the very real threat in her own voice if he dared to cause her harm in any way, but when she saw the smirk spread further along her face, a pit of ice grew in the pit of her stomach.

 

“Wouldn’t I?” he question, the hand beneath her legs twisting to brush against the roundness of her ass just to the right of where his hand had been resting on her outer thigh, “I still owe you for the broken nose earlier.”

 

Clary’s eyes immediately fell to the black and blue blotch of skin around the Vikings nose and felt her own swell of pride spread across her face in seeing that she wasn’t as defenseless against such a monster like so many would assume she would be. Perhaps that was her ticket out of this very situation.

 

A look of annoyance passed over Ivar’s face as he stared down at the smirking girl in his grasp, why wasn’t she terrified at being held against her will and at his mercy. Perhaps there was something wrong with her. Shaking his head, he turned his attention away, hearing his name being called from a distance.

 

As Ivar’s attention left her for a split second, Clary began to formulate her next move, she had one shot at this and she had to make it count, but she needed his attention on her.

 

Knocking her bound hands against his chest, Clary demanded Ivar’s attention back on her. When he turned back to her, teasing her about wanting all his attention on her, Clary purposely muttered something into the gag so Ivar couldn’t hear what she said.

 

Instinctively, Ivar lowered his head towards her own, asking her to repeat what she said.

 

That’s all she needed…

 

Grasping her bound hands together in one, tight fist, Clary swung with all her might towards her captor’s already bruising nose. As soon as her hands connected with her target, she immediately felt the snapping of his nasal bones for the second time that night, blood instantly falling from his nares.

 

Ivar howled in pain, instantly dropping Clary to the ground as his hands naturally sought to cover his bleeding face. His eyes were shut tight against the pain and so he didn’t see the young girl on the ground before him, struggling to get to her own feet.

 

Having been ready for Ivar’s abrupt release of her body, Clary had been ready for the impact of her fall; however, the feeling of soft sand beneath her was a welcome cushion against the fall. On the other side of things, the sand proved to be a slight inconvenience when it came to getting her feet set underneath her, her bared feet sinking far into the sand as she struggled to stand.

 

Luckily, Clary found quick footing and was bounding through the sand in no time, the sounds of Ivar’s angry shouts and threats disappearing behind her as she made haste along the shoreline. Pulling the gag from her mouth, Clary pulled in the salty air of the sea into her lungs as she geared up for the fastest run of her life.

 

Her bound hands kept her from running at her usual full speed, but tucking them against her chest, Clary pushed forward with the speed of one of her arrows, the wind blowing her tousled hair behind her.

 

As her bare feet took her across the sand, her eyes scanned her surrounding trying to ascertain the exact part of the shoreline she had been brought to, perhaps there was still a way to find herself an escape route. She had to get back to her family, to make sure they were okay. And Simon, she had to find Simon and make sure she hadn’t watched her friend die.

 

A familiar form of rocks along the smooth slop of the cliffs before her rose into her line of sight, instantly taking her back to the days where her and her best friend would play pirates, watching as the ships passed along the waters taking goods to and from the market just a short ways into the city.

 

Clary grinned as she remembered smaller boats towing along this very shoreline, eager to take their meager catch of the day into the city via a small set of steps carved out of the rocky cliff. If she could just find those secret stairs, she had her escape.

 

Clary could feel the achiness of her tired muscles threatening to turn her legs into jelly as she forced her legs to move under her, but she couldn’t waist a single moment of reprieve, not when she was so close to freedom- to her family.

 

Finding it in herself to put on a final burst of speed, Clary took a big and st—oomph!

 

 

~*~*~*~*

 

_30 seconds earlier…_

Jace was just finishing tying the last of the stolen good to the floor of his ship when he heart the commotion some distance away from the ships. A howling cry pierced the night air along with angry shouts of men and women soon pulled to a standing position, his eyes seeking the source of all the noise.

 

Two things simultaneously caught his attention at once, immediately painting a rather amusing tale of the moments leading up to this not-so-surprising turn of events.

 

The first, and the less amusing of the two, was the slump of Ivar’s once large figure hunched down on his knees, one hand clasped around his bloodied nose, while the other hand, fisted, waved in the air as cries of revenge gargled from his throat.

 

Jace followed the direction of his hurled insults, bringing him to the second thing to grab his attention, and probably the most amusing site of his life. Flying across the sand like a Viking war ship on the hunt, a young woman with hair of fire ran away from the now crippled Viking, not turning around to see if anyone was chasing her.

 

Jace saw a small handful of his men and women gave chase to the young woman, but something told him deep down that it had to be him who would have to catch the fleeing prisoner and drag her back to the boats. He didn’t stop to think why it had to be him, but the thrill of the chase had him leaping over the side of the moment in an instant, his heels digging in the sand, ready to sprint after the young maiden.

 

“Let her go, Jace,” the familiar voice of his best friend, catching him just before he took off after the young women. He knew he was losing time as he looked back into Alec’s stern gaze, but something in him would not let this young girl go and he needed Alec to accept that.

 

“I have to go after her, Alec,” Jace responded, trying not to smile as Alec narrowed his eyes disapprovingly in his direction. “She’s seen our faces and can’t be allowed to give up our identities.”

 

Alec scoffed, which gave Jace the moment’s break in this conversation to take off after his quarry, knowing that his athletic skill and longer legs would catch up to the young woman in no time.

 

The closer he came to closing in on her smaller figure he called off the pursuing men and woman who had also given chase to the prisoner. It seemed that if you wanted a kidnapping to go right these days, you had to take care of it yourself.

 

He was so close now that his fingertips tingled with the urge to reach out towards the fiery swirl of her hair, he wondered briefly how the silken strands would feel against his fingers. Would they burn like the flames of the fire in which the color of her hair resembled, or would they feel cool against his skin like the air above the sea. Something in him was dying to know which one it would be, but another part of him pushed down those crazy thoughts, pushing him to end this chase once and for all.

 

Jace prayed to the gods to ensure the capture of his elusive captive, knowing that, with their help, he would never stop chasing her. She was too much of an enigma to him now, something that he couldn’t let slip from his life, not when there was so much to know about this strange girl. He just needed her out of his system and then he could focus on other, more important things.

 

As if Odin himself agreed with his plans, Jace noticed the smallest slowing of her steps, as if she found her route of escape and he knew that it was now or never if he ever hoped to capture her once more.

 

In one final burst of strength, Jace launched himself towards the running girl, his body catapulting into her smaller form, sending them both crashing into the sand.

 

He heard her breath rush out of her just as his larger frame collided with her smaller one, both of them falling to the uneven ground beneath them. In an instant, Jace had his arms branded around her small waist, twisting their bodies so his larger one took the brunt of the fall in order to protect her from the harsh impact.

 

He grunted as his back hit the sand with a dull thud, but kept a tight grip around the struggling form on top of him. They struggled together in the sand, but Jace had his strength and larger body on his side and was easily able to maneuver their bodies so he sat on her kicking legs, already having pinned her bound hands far above her head.

 

He looked down into crystal green eyes, like shards of glass cutting across his skin, as the young woman struggled beneath him. He tried not to look at her heaving breasts mere inches beneath his own heaving chest, but every so often he felt the slightest brush of her body against his and it was all he could do not to moan like a pubescent boy.

 

“Get off of me,” the young girl growled, pulling his attention once again to her beautiful face. She was beautiful, he allowed himself to admit, he would be a fool to object to that, but what he was most concerned about is this invisible pull she had over him. If he was completely honest with himself, this brief obsession with this woman was not like all the other infatuations he’d had with woman all his life, something about her was different and that both intrigued and scared him.

 

Pushing the uncertainty from his mind, Jace feared no one, especially not a woman, he smiled down at his captive, knowing that his patented smirk was sure to piss her off.

 

“I’m not sure you quite understand your role as prisoner, Red,” he teased, “I’m just merely here to remind you which role you play.”

 

“Play with yourself,” the young woman seethed, wiggling against him in earnest, but he just sat there, amused, as she struggled beneath him, “And my name is Clary, not _Red_.”

 

“As fun as that may sound, _Clary_ ” he replied, waiting until she stilled her movements and he was sure she wouldn’t try to escape before he moved off of her, “I think its time we get back to the ships.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Clary said, wiggling herself into a sitting position, her bound hands settling against her lap, “Not willingly anyways, I thought we already had this conversation.”

 

“You’re right,” Jace answered, crouching down on his hunches in front of her, “That’s why you already know how it ends.”

 

Before Clary could throw another sarcastic word his way, Jace had a hold of her bound wrists, tugging her small form up and over his shoulder. Her heard the gasp of indignation leave her lips as he turned on his heel, making his way back to where many of his fellow warriors were gathered around watching the spectacle before them.

 

“You egoistical, misogynistic, “ he heard yell from behind, her small wrists pounding against his back. He smiled, finally having bested her at whatever little game they were playing.

 

“You use big words for someone who is so small,” he teased, tossing his shoulder up, making her squeak as her body jerked in protest.

 

“Ugh, you jerk! Put me down!” Clary demanded, her fist striking close to his left kidney for emphasis.

 

Jace winced but smiled in reply, “As you wish, m’lady, we’ve just arrived at your carriage.”

 

With Clary securely across his shoulder, Jace climbed over the ship’s ledge and offloaded his cargo onto the floor, quick to tie her hands against the largest pole positioning her just beneath the center mass sail of the ship.

 

Jace turned to again be greeted by a wide range of staring eyes his way, some were amused at the spectacle, while other’s were slightly annoyed at their delay in departure.

 

“Women,” he offered with a shrug of his shoulders. He was answered by murmurs of agreement and some whistling, but Jace had already forgotten about them, turning away from them and his young charge at his feet.

 

He looked out into the vast waters of the sea, watching as the hidden light beneath the water’s edge began to turn the morning sky into a ray of colors as if the gods themselves were painting a path for them to journey on.

 

“Where are you taking me?” he heard his captive whisper, not missing the small thread of fear in the question. He didn’t turn to her, knowing that she would need the privacy he afforded her to come to terms with her new destiny at the hands of the very race she was taught to fear- and rightly so.

Still, a part of him didn’t want to see the look of fear looking back at him whenever he was around her. He knew that he would instantly miss her unique, fiery brand of gaze he’d seen in her eyes before and so he chose to give her something.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*

 

Clary waited for Jace’s answer, the young Viking warrior seemingly haven gotten lost in his staring off into the horizon. In a moment of silence, his attention not on her wandering eyes, Clary took this rare moment to gaze upon her captor.

 

Yes, she admitted to herself, he was a very gorgeous man, dangerously so. She could see the strong line of his shoulders moving beneath his thin shirt as he settled his forearms across the widen ledge of the ship.

 

She remembered the feel of those strong muscles beneath her as he hoisted her, without any effort, over his shoulder seconds ago. Her aching fists could attest that the muscles of his back were just as well defined as those of his shoulders and she briefly wondered if he was just as sharply cut along his front.

 

Her mind flashed to the moment he had her pinned into the sand, their bodies heaving against each other, little teasing brushes of contact between them as they both swallowed the air around them… and she remembered. She remembered the way his lean, muscled body had made her’s clench in an unfamiliar wanting. It had driven her to struggle underneath him, not wanting to feel this way for this strange boy who seemed to capture her attention without trying.

 

Who was he and why did he have this strange pull over her? She’d never felt this way around any other person in her life and the fact that he was one of _them_ terrified her.

 

The gentle ocean breeze brought her attention the Viking once more, her gaze focusing on the way his hair moved softly along the wind. His hair was a stunning shade of blonde, her earlier assessment of its likening that of an angel’s halo, but the imagery seemed laughable now as she knew he was actually her own personal demon.

 

Still, she felt the intense urge to run her hands through his curls, wondering if he’d allow her the chance to weave her fingers through the golden strands. She hated mysteries, mysteries needed to be solved and the feel of his hair beneath her fingers was possible the single most pressing mystery she held before her.

 

She felt the tug of a smile along her face as she imagined his reaction to her taking fate by the reigns and running her hands through his hair, the consequences be damned. Would her smack her hand away, threaten to end her life if she ever touched him again or would he gaze down at her letting her explore the soft tendrils of his light hair through her fingers.

 

Feeling the twinge of warmth spread along her cheeks, Clary cleared her throat, perhaps pulling said young man from his own thought when he finally gave her the answer to the question she had asked moments ago.

 

“Home,” he finally said, “We’re going home.”

 

Clary felt the pit of her stomach dropped out from underneath her as a multitude of emotions came crashing over her.

 

Home, she thought, would she ever see her home again? She felt herself turning before she could even process the movement, her line of vision finally finding the looming shadow of her city’s wall in the distance. Behind those walls stood the only home she had ever known, the only people she had ever loved. Could this be the last time she ever laid eyes on the only place she felt safe?

 

A jolt beneath her sitting form, alerted Clary to the fact that the boat was being pushed into the water’s edge, drifting her farther and farther away from the safe arms of her loved ones.

 

She didn’t take her eyes off of the dark silhouette of her home until it was no more than a pinpoint in the distance. She turned herself towards the rising sun in the east, the morning’s rise beginning to peak over the horizon as if opening a door for the ship to pass through, bringing her along for the ride towards her new fate.

 

Clary closed her eyes against the brightness of the dawning light, closing herself off against the unknown, as a feeling of being along sank into her very bones.

 

“ _Yea, though I walk through the valley_ ,” Clary began in her mind, echoes of a prayer long taught to her to use in times of fear running through her mind, “I _will fear nothing, for thou art with me._ _”_

A part of her felt silly for praying to a God who had never answered her prayers before, but in this instance, Clary was willing to reach out to anything, anyone as long as she wasn’t to be alone in the days to come. When all she heard was silence, Clary let out one last sigh and let the exhaustion in her body take her under.

 

But just before the last moments of consciousness took her completely, a still small voice deep in the back of her mind spoke to her.

 

_Go not in fear, my child,_ the voice whispered, _but with patience and an open mind. I Am with you always._

 

Her mind struggled to process the words of the achingly familiar whisper, wondering if she truly heard the voice of God or if it was the harsh joke of her tired mind trying to give a moment’s peace in what seemed to be an otherwise stressful situation.

 

Either way, Clary began to feel a solid piece of herself harden against the days to come. Wherever she was being taken, whatever lied ahead of her, Clary knew that she would not take whatever it was life had in store for her because if there was one thing Clary Garroway was not, she was not a quitter.


End file.
